


124 Days

by cazflibs



Series: The Ace Chronicles [3]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-11
Updated: 2010-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three years of being Ace, Rimmer heads for Blerios 5 to train in swordsmanship and unarmed combat. Warning: contains a smattering of sexual yumminess...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Kada hated Blerios 5 with a passion. Nothing but markets and sand.

From the shadows, he scanned the dissipating crowds of cat-like Blerions; the receding sun forcing the traders to pack up their goods for another day. As the evening desert wind began to bite, he pulled his woollen cloak tighter around his shoulders and sneered. This planetoid was so backward. Unlike his home planet of Sydias 12, where the industrial revolution fifty years previously had brought them wondrous technology and advancements, Blerios 5 was still ancient in comparison. The ageless sandstone buildings and dusty markets were home to such a simple race, still clinging to traditions and ways of living that should have died out long ago in this ever-changing cosmos.

Not that it was an entirely bad thing, Kada reasoned. Sydian traders such as himself had long taken advantage of the cheap deals on gold the Blerions could offer, selling them on in trading posts in the Sydian sector for three, perhaps four times the price.

He glanced back at the Lati Temple, patting the lump in his pocket with a sharp-toothed grin, which echoed that of his wolverine ancestors. Not as good as a five-fingered discount of course.

As he crossed the market, he fought to keep his pace slow and measured. To run now would be far too risky; suspicion following his every step like it was his partner in crime. After all, the relationship between the Blerions and the Sydians was tense enough as it is, and he was already attracting tight-lipped looks from the remaining traders with his presence alone.

He stopped at a tea-seller on the corner of the alley that led to the spice stalls. Peppermint would soothe his nerves. He flicked the vendor a single silver coin in payment before slipping into the cool shadows of the alley, his nonchalant air only betrayed by the trembling clay cup grasped in his hands. All he had to do now was return to his ship and get the hell out of there.

A commotion started in the market behind him and he risked a glance over his shoulder. A trio of Blerions dressed in red and gold uniforms were gesturing wildly. His stomach plummeted. _Lati hekmat_. It was the law.

Scrabbling back, he half-turned and immediately collided hard with an unseen figure before him, the clay mug casting out its contents before smashing on the dusty floor.

"Someone's in a hurry."

Kada glanced up and immediately scowled as he took in the figure's clothing. His silvery grey robes, now splashed with herbal tea, were tied in at the waist with a simple red belt. This, coupled with the oversized hood masking his face in shadow, suggested he was one of the Maitiaki - the ancient religious guardians of the Blerion cities. Another meaningless order that the Blerions couldn't seem to let go of. All they did nowadays was chant and pray for goodness sake.

"What's it to you?" Kada raised his nose in a habitual gesture, picking up immediately on a sharp smell against the air of spilt peppermint. " _Hologram_ ," he added, almost spitting the word.

The figure raised his hands, an appeal for calm. "Let's not get personal," he replied evenly. "After all, I believe it was your good self who ran into me. And gave me the complimentary herbal tea bath."

Kada snorted derisively as he looked him up and down. "The Blerions must have _really_ lowered their standards if they're training the likes of your kind in their ridiculous, old-fashioned ways."

"Just - " The figure drew back a sigh, as if reigning in some choice words, " - let me pass," he concluded tightly, squeezing past Kada's shoulder in the narrow alley.

But the Sydian was far too amused not to play ball; his baser instincts taking precedence as he grabbed him roughly by the arm. "Hey, hologram!" he sneered. "I was talking to y- "

A pained gasp caught in Kada's throat as the figure suddenly spun back, a gloved hand shooting out - rattlesnake-fast - and seized him by the wrist, twisting it back awkwardly. As the hologram glanced up, the hood lifted back teasingly to reveal the instantly recognisable dark eyes and wisps of blonde hair, still etched in shadow. It was then that Kada realised, far too late, who he was really dealing with.

"Oh dear, squire," he tutted in a smooth, deep tone, his voice edged with dark amusement. "Now I can say it was self-defence."

* * *

Time moves in strange ways.

Rimmer had learned this all too well over the years, especially during his time as Ace. Some parts of your life seemed to be all too brief, flitting past as beautifully and fleetingly as fireflies. Others dragged, elongated and punctuating like painful yet important lessons.

And this is how he would always remember his training on Blerios 5.

In fact, it had been this very alley, 124 days earlier, that this new chapter of his time as Ace had begun.

* * *

The computer had explained to him that since he'd only survived the last three years as Ace depending on firearms and a crap-ton of lucky timing, it was time for some more advanced training.

"But computer," Rimmer insisted, "won't my trainer think it a little suspicious if I'm supposed to be already adept at all of this?"

He had to admit, although the last three years had allowed him to shed a lot of his old nervous habits and develop some well-honed firearms skills, he still felt like he was in the deep end of this seemingly endless ocean of his alter ego.

" _Not to worry,"_ she assured. _"Your trainer is fully aware of who you really are. He's been training your predecessors for the past thirty years now. He knows the score."_

Shielding his gaze against the ferocity of the desert sun, Rimmer's eyes scanned the market, flitting across a stream of unfamiliar faces. "So how am I supposed to know who he is?" he sighed nasally. Old habits die hard.

" _Patience is a virtue, you know,"_ the computer clucked. _"Just head down that alley to your right. You can cut through to the spice stalls that way. You'll know him when you see him, don't worry. He's an old friend. A familiar face."_

"Right," Rimmer offered uncertainly. Waving away the persistent calls of a tea seller on the corner, he hurried past and slipped into the cool dark shadows of the alley.

 _An old friend_ , he echoed to himself. That sounded odd. He'd met a whole host of people on his travels but he'd never visited Blerios 5 before.

His nostrils flared. Typical.

The computer relished throwing him in at the deep end and seeing if he'd sink or swim. He'd often return to _Wildfire_ after defeating an exotically new and dangerous threat, bedraggled, wounded, and ready to fire a whole host of abuse at the mainframe for not warning him sufficiently. But she'd then remind him how swiftly he was learning new skills and tactics and conclude that, at the end of the day, he'd survived despite the odds. All well and good, but he didn't particularly enjoy the unexpected dangers that came with being Ace. You never knew what was creeping up on -

An unseen figure grabbed him from behind, a long, thin dagger held to his throat. Case in point.

A deep, rumbling voice tickled his ear. "Hand over your credits," it hissed menacingly. "And if you're nice about it, I'll think about not slicing you open like a melon."

Rimmer growling inwardly. He really didn't have time for this.

Artificial adrenaline coursing through his system, Rimmer's instinct kicked in quickly. Delivering a swift elbow to his attacker's stomach followed by a hard mule kick, he swivelled back to face his attacker, whipping out a gun to his head.

"Oh, I don't think so, squire," he replied evenly. "I'd skip along home if I were you." He grinned mockingly. "And if you're nice about it, I'll think about not shooting you in the head."

His attacker swiftly sheathed the dagger and raised his arms in surrender, his grey hood obscuring his face in shadow. "I'm sorry - " he offered before grabbing Rimmer's extended arm and twisting it awkwardly, pulling forth a shocked cry of pain as he bent double. His attacker delivered two sharp knee kicks to his abdomen before wrenching the gun from his grasp and casting it behind him so that it skittered into the shadows. "But I think I'll have to insist."

Rimmer tried to steady his jaw as it threatened to jabber in panic. This guy was far more lethal than he first imagined.

Spinning free of the twisted grip on his wrist he staggered back, watching as the attacker drew forth the dagger once more. With the blade winking in the shards of light that pooled on the floor, the hooded figure launched himself towards him.

Crap.

His arms shielding his face, Rimmer winced as he blocked the fierce onslaught of the dagger's attack. Although he was fending off the blows, he hissed through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the white-hot slices against his forearms. Then just as suddenly, they stopped.

"Pathetic," sniffed the figure.

Parting his arms, he was just in time to see his attacker deliver a swift kick to the stomach, and he bent double with a pained wheeze. A windmilling fist caught him clean on the jaw snapping back his head, and a concluding sidekick to the solar plexus sent him crashing back to the floor, gasping and heaving in shock.

A dark shadow crept across the glare of the sun and he winced against the harsh edges of his silhouette. His attacker finally slid back his hood to reveal an all-too-familiar face.

"Tonga?" he spluttered.

In Dimension 357, Rimmer had spent the last three months helping to bring the survivors of the simulants reign of terror to the Exodus Colony. Its creator and founder, Captain Tonga, had understandably become a firm ally of Rimmer's. It seemed in this reality, Tonga had never left to join the Blerion Star Fleet, choosing instead to join the hallowed ranks of the Maitiaki on his home planet.

Tonga shook his head in disdain. "If you think you're going to survive out there using just your guns, then you thought wrong." He folded his arms, sliding his hands into his voluminous sleeves. "Your counter-attacks and blocks are clumsy and basic at best." He turned to leave, his booted steps echoing across the walls of the alley. "Your training begins tomorrow," he called over his shoulder. "Lati Temple. Sunrise." And with that, he was gone.

Rimmer let go of a strained cough. "He couldn't have just explained that to me verbally?"

The computer restrained a giggle. _"He has a very hands-on approach to the Ace training, I'm afraid,"_ she confirmed.

"How long do I have to stay here for?" he whined.

" _As long as it takes,"_ she replied simply.

Rimmer groaned as he curled up in a ball. He had the sneaky suspicion he was going to be here for longer than he'd first thought.


	2. Month one

_Day 1_

The dawn was here. The distant chatter of the birds in the bell tower heralded its arrival.

The sandstone buildings of the city that had once enjoyed the cool air of the night were now starting to glow, resonating in anticipation of the unrelenting heat of the day that would soon reclaim them. Shadows stretched across the dusty ground of the market, impossibly long compared to the moulds that cast them. A solitary man cut a lonely figure as he crossed the square and headed towards the Lati Temple.

Rimmer rubbed the sleep from his eyes, feeling like he'd been woken only a moment after he'd managed to fall asleep. Dawn was ridiculously early on this planetoid compared to others he'd visited. The old flares of snide resentment, that he hadn't yet managed to shrug off, flirted momentarily with the premise that it must surely be Nature's intention just to spite him.

He'd never been an early riser. Why did his teaching have to start at dawn anyway? Why not eleven-ish? Once a lie-in, breakfast and at least two cups of tea had been ticked off the morning's to-do list?

As Rimmer ascended the stairs to the Lati Temple, a tall hooded figure slid into view, silhouetted against the orange glare of the early morning sun.

"I see that computer of yours ensured you were here on time." Tonga dipped his head, perhaps to shadow the smirk on his face that Rimmer could nevertheless still decipher. "Did she pack your sandwiches for you?"

"Oh ha ha," Rimmer shot back sarcastically although with an undertone of relief. This was much more like the Tonga he'd known from the _Exodus_.

Tonga eyed him up and down, taking in his infamous outfit. "If you're going to learn from us, you're going to have to dress like us." He snorted in amusement. "Come," he indicated with his head to follow. "Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

Great. Now he looked like a monk.

After providing him with the clothing that he was to wear for the next few months, Tonga was keen to observe a quick morning prayer in the main hall before training began, leaving Rimmer to his own devices for a few moments. And that's when he'd noticed it.

Tucked away underneath an archway, lovingly decorated with flowers and offerings, was a small shrine. In its centre stood the object of affection - a majestic, floor-length mirror, whose golden gilded frame sparkled in the low light that stretched in through the open doors and into the cool air of the temple.

Rimmer studied himself critically, his reflection marred with the odd metallic streak where time had left its mark in the ancient glass. It was a step up from his usual gold lame outfit, there was no denying it. But the get-up really did make him look like a monk; with the hood that shadowed his eyes, the loose grey robes that flowed to his knees, revealing baggy, eastern-style trousers. He sighed through flared nostrils. At least he wouldn't literally roast in his own juices in this relentless heat, unlike his old bacofoil get-up.

"What do you see?"

Rimmer's head whipped back. Tonga had clearly finished his morning prayers and was now watching him carefully, almost with an air of quiet excitement.

"What do you see?" he repeated, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Rimmer rolled his eyes as he shrugged, nonchalant. "It's a mirror, Tonga. What else should I be seeing apart from my reflection?"

Tonga's shoulders sagged. He seemed almost disappointed. "You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Rimmer examined the glass with increasing suspicion. "Unless there's some kind of secret filming going on behind there, and you're hoping to catch me making a complete arse out of myself?"

" _Lati hekmat_ ," Tonga muttered hurriedly. "Could you please leave baser words at the door next time?" he hissed. "You're on holy ground, remember?"

Rimmer bit back a smirk. The Tonga he knew from the _Exodus_ swore like a trooper, capable of stringing together a ream of foul utterances that would leave any space-hardened GELF tutting at such profanities. He watched as the incarnation before him let forth a ragged sigh, clearly biting back some choice words of his own.

"It's known as _Karahe o Whakaata_ \- the Mirror of Reflection," he explained. "Not as in the physical reflection but the metaphysical. We Blerions seek its guidance in times of great need." Tonga bowed his head in reverence. "Through this mirror, Lati shows us our greatest fear so that we may confront and conquer it." He paused. "But only if she deems us ready to face it."

Rimmer noticed that his reflection looked as confused as he was; his nose wrinkling in that way Lister had always mocked when he'd been trying to read a book on engineering or Esperanto. He'd always said that it made him look like he'd sniffed something completely rank. Rimmer would often bite back that it was probably down to the unspeakable contents of his wash basket.

"But I don't see anything," Rimmer protested. No rabid Kinitowawi, no killer simulants. "Just my reflection."

"Then it's about time you started your training." Tonga regarded him from under the grey folds of his hood. "You ready?"

* * *

 _Day 6_

Tonga reached behind him and drew forth the sword sheathed on his back, the blade resonating with an audible sharpness.

"Remember, it's all about awareness," he explained as he strode up and down the ancient training hall in the rear attic of the temple. "Staying attentive at all times." He swivelled back to face Rimmer, a frown soon clouding his face. "Are you even listening?"

Rimmer glanced up, his attention snatched from a sword of his own that dangled loosely in his hand. "Hmm?"

Tonga growled as he cast his eyes over his protégé's hapless stance. "Only you could make a sword look as dangerous as a bath sponge. Have you heeded anything I've been teaching you these last few days?" He sighed to expel his frustration, repeating his lessons for what seemed like the hundredth time. "One hand in front of the other, firm grip but keep them loose. Remember, you need the flexibility."

Rimmer did as he was told, but the concern was clearly noticeable in his eyes, his fingers wiggling nervously across the handle like the ripple of a wave.

Tonga shook his head. "You're afraid of it," he said simply, nodding to the sword. "After six days, you're still afraid of it."

"Of course I'm afraid of it!" Rimmer spluttered. "One wrong move and I could take your arm off with it!"

A level smile stretched across Tonga's face. "Is that a threat you'd like to demonstrate?" he challenged with a cocked eyebrow.

Rimmer's nostrils flared nervously. "Erm - "

Tonga sniggered. "Just block for now, ok?" he instructed, as he swung his sword with expert dexterity. "Don't try any more than defending yourself. Remember what I told you. We're starting with the basics and working from there."

"Basics, right," Rimmer repeated distantly as he stepped his right foot back in preparation, steadying his weight evenly. He raised the hilt of the sword to shoulder level so that the guard was poised like the horns of an ox, the blade pointing at Tonga trembling in his grasp.

"Ready?"

"No - "

Tonga launched towards him, swinging the sword down in a _kesa giri_ \- a swift, downward slice with the blade. Rimmer moved quickly, thrusting his sword forward to block its fatal trajectory, before wind-milling his arm to knock him away. He'd barely had time to return to the Ox Guard when a second attack came, this time a _yoko giri_ \- a side cut that hurtled towards him with little hesitation. He plunged the sword vertically downward so that the two blades chimed in strange dis-chord before pushing back hard against the sword's weight to shove Tonga back once more.

His guard wasn't even up for the third blow, only managing to clock it in the corner of his eye and blocking it just in time before it made contact with his hip. He could tell his grip was all wrong; the resonation of the blows wrenching through his wrists with a sharp twist that caused him to hiss in discomfort.

The attacks were coming fast and furious now, sending Rimmer way out of his depth. His composure kicked wildly to stay afloat, all protocol lost, as his lessons seemed to take a back seat to his rising desperation.

"You're not concentrating!" he heard a voice call amongst the piercing clangs of metal.

Tonga was right. He wasn't. His mind's eye seemed to resurrect old memories and play them before him; his vision flickering with the images in the flashing winks of light from the blades. He wasn't on Blerios 5 anymore. He was frantically fending off the attacks of the knight that had escaped from the AR machine back on _Starbug_. A last-ditch attempt to prove to Lister - to his predecessor, to himself - that he could really do it.

As soon as he did it, he knew it was a mistake. And worst still, a mistake he was unable to rectify.

Everything in this life is cause and effect. Too hard a grip with the right hand rendered his last block clumsy, wind-milling away the blow far wider than he meant to. He lost his balance for a split second, and as he half-turned, half-staggered to regain equilibrium, he left his side open for just a fleeting moment. A moment wide enough nonetheless for Tonga to spot the error and seize upon it with little refrain.

Rimmer cried out in pain as he felt the blade lance up his side, tracing a white-hot line from hip to chest. Dropping his sword so that it clattered to the floor with little decorum, he muttered profanities under his breath as he hugged himself, bent-double.

"That's your first lesson," Tonga concluded as he neatly sheathed his sword behind his back, silencing its audible hum. "Never leave any part of you unguarded. Not even for a second."

Rimmer hissed through his teeth and risked a glance. He could see the line of light from his damaged projection as it pulsed through his torn clothing. "No smeg," he mumbled to himself.

* * *

 _Day 13_

Tonga laughed heartily, trotting down the stone staircase that led from the training hall. "Seriously, do you ever stop complaining?" He paused at the wooden door at the bottom, his hand on the latch as he turned back to glance over his shoulder. "It wasn't _that_ bad!"

Rimmer inched his way down the steps behind him, his image flecked with pulsing white lines that patterned his body. He treated Tonga to an open scowl that spoke far more eloquently than words possibly could.

Tonga masked a smirk. "Fine, fine," he relented. "We've still got work to do on your blocks, I admit. We can move onto other lessons tomorrow. Give your light bee a bit of a rest." He lifted the latch and creaked open the door, the ancient hinges sounding their petulance.

"I'm an old man of three million years," Rimmer groaned as he moved to follow Tonga through the doorway. "A star-crossed voyager of time and space. Is it so bad that sometimes I just need a cup of tea, a sit down and - _ow!_ "

Clearly startled by something unseen in the dark corridor beyond, Tonga shoved Rimmer back hard through the doorway and slammed him against the wall, as if hoping to merge him into the shadows.

"What the hell are you - ?"

Tonga span back and pressed a finger to his lips. " _Hush!_ " he hissed with a suspicious urgency.

Rimmer blinked in surprise but did as he was told, the pair now stood still and silent in the darkness. They waited. They listened.

Tap _tap_ , tap _tap_ , tap _tap_.

Lonely footsteps echoed through the corridor beyond, punctuating a strange rhythm that could only have been made by one with a slight limp aided by a staff or stick.

Tap _tap_ , tap _tap_ , tap _tap_.

The footsteps reached a crescendo as they passed before dying away into eerie silence. The pair inched their way around the edge of the door, watching as a hunched, old Maitiaki guardian retreated into the early evening shadow that cloaked the far end of the corridor to the temple hall.

"Stay out of his way," Tonga whispered under his breath. "Be careful not to let him see you."

"Why? Who on Io is he?"

Tonga was silent for a moment, opening his mouth to speak before letting it go with a sigh. "Just don't let him see you," he repeated quietly.

* * *

 _Day 18_

"It's all about balance."

"I thought last week you said it was all about awareness?"

"Don't be a smartarse."

"Sorry."

Rimmer wobbled unsteadily as he glanced down towards the floor below. He wasn't really in a position to argue. In fact, he wasn't in much of a comfortable position at all.

The pair were perched in the hall's rafters, the ancient wooden beams creaking under their weight. Tonga had been keen to teach Rimmer the art of balance that came so naturally to the Blerions, having inherited the fearless poise of their feline ancestors.

Indeed, Tonga appeared perfectly comfortable with maintaining equilibrium at such a height, balance and élan seeming to seep from every pore of his body. Rimmer on the other hand felt less than dignified, certain that one wrong step or one uneven footing would ensure he took the short cut to the floor rather than the rope ladder.

Tonga hissed desperately at Rimmer's struggles to even stay upright. "You're like a child!" he cried, his twitching tail flicking up the material of his smock in irritation. "No centre, no focus. Only carelessness and fear."

"Thanks for the kind words of support," Rimmer bit back as he wind-milled his arms to regain equilibrium before sinking into a crouched position on the beam. "Taken straight from the Ladybird book of Positive Management, I'm sure." He nodded towards Tonga's tail, that seemed to behave like a rudder in water. "Besides, I'm not as well-equipped for this as you are."

"Then you'll need to adapt. Learn. Stop concentrating on what you don't have and focus on what you can do to overcome it."

"Easy enough for the GELF with the tail to say."

Standing perfectly still on the thin beam, Tonga rolled his eyes. "And you complain like a child too," he muttered under his breath, before adding, "No wonder that computer of yours mothers you so much."

"Hey!" Rimmer scowled as he rose indignantly. "I do not - "

The rest of his sentence was lost along with his footing and he scrabbled out with desperate hands to try and claw back his grip on the beam. Yet the inevitable momentum got the better of him and he plummeted with a wailing cry, thumping heavily on his back onto the floorboards of the hall.

Tonga glanced down at him with a cat-like grin. "Such grace. Such style," he sighed whimsically.

Rimmer couldn't manage the snide retort so perfectly orchestrated in his mind; a pained wheeze escaping involuntarily in its place.

* * *

 _Day 21_

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising. Just pay attention and get it right!"

"Hey! It's not as if I _mean_ to keep screwing it up!"

"I know. I just - " There was a sigh. "Come on. Again."

* * *

 _Day 27_

Rimmer couldn't sleep.

The market was abandoned now. Night had reclaimed the desert in its bitterly cold grip; standing in complete antithesis to the harsh, scorching heat of the day.

He breathed in the sharp wind that scurried past his legs, billowing his flowing robes like an ancient ship's sail. The blast of air seemed to release his mind from the hazed fuzziness, bringing with it a stark clarity.

He couldn't do this anymore.

* * *

 _Day 28_

He didn't even see the final blow coming, merely felt it.

It sent him caroming backwards, and he hit the stone wall hard before folding like a rag doll to the floor. Every inch of his body seemed to be lining up at the complaints desk as he instinctively curled in on himself, moaning softly.

Tonga drew back his leg with a disappointed sigh. "Again," he commanded, his voice breathless. He gestured with his arm for Rimmer to get up. "Again!"

He'd been training Rimmer in unarmed combat for the last week the only way he knew how; through the simple art of repetition. If you performed an action enough, you were bound to learn it eventually. It was how he'd taught Rimmer's predecessors. It was how he'd learnt himself, still bearing the scars to this day. The Maitiaki training had always been tough and merciless, but the warriors it eventually forged were unbreakable. Unless the training itself broke them first.

Rimmer shook his head, still on the floor. "No more," he managed.

"There's always tomorrow. We can - "

"No more." The words were slow. Emphatic. And in the silence that followed them, Tonga finally caught up with their meaning.

"Not even four weeks and you throw in the towel." He shook his head and scoffed. "That has to be a record, even for you."

Rimmer screwed his eyes shut against the relentless glare of the sun that lanced through the stained glass windows of the ancient training hall. The heat was oppressive, cutting off all coherent thought.

"You might be surprised to hear that getting the crap beaten out of me on a daily basis is not all that fun," he snapped, his old voice biting at the edges of his alter ego's. He opened his eyes to meet Tonga's stare.

"Where the hell did you read on the training brochure that this was going to be fun?" Tonga bit back, wiping away the sweat that had begun to bead on his brow. "You know, that's the problem with the Arnold J. Rimmers of this universe," he growled. "You have no patience. If you don't get it the first time you think it's never going to happen."

"Or if I don't get it for the hundredth time? The thousandth?"

Tonga pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly biting back some choice words. "Look, this is going to take months not days, alright? You just need to keep practicing."

Rimmer hauled himself upright to a reluctant seated position. "But I can hear it in your voice! I'm way behind the other versions of me you've trained, I just know it." He dragged his knees up to his chest with a world-weary sigh. "We tried, we failed. I give up."

Tonga regarded him with a scowl. "All your life you've given up," he hissed.

Rimmer blinked twice at the déjà vu; the all-too-familiar words his own predecessor had uttered to him when he'd tried to bail out of his training back on _Starbug_. Tonga even sported the same look of disappointed disgust - not at his failure, but his unwillingness to try again.

"Yes, you're right," Tonga added tersely. "It's hard. It's painful. I've been there, I get it." His jaw tightened. "But I did it. They all did it. _Lati hekmat_ , what makes you so different?" he cast up his hands, the exasperation clear in his tone.

Rimmer opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Instead he simply shook his head, a scoff escaping his lips. "I'm such an _idiot_ \- "

Tonga blinked, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

After a thoughtful pause, Rimmer glanced up to meet his expectant stare. "We're all just the same, aren't we?" he snorted. "Just a string of whiny, self-pitying caterpillars that you try and make something out of, year after smegging year." Rimmer shook his head, bemused. "And I'm berating myself for not being as good as my predecessor when they were just as useless at first?"

The sarcasm died away as the satire that was this strange and twisted situation revealed its true colours, wings unfolding. Rimmer's face was now still and solemn, the strange, raging resentment now dissipated. "Why the hell did it take me three years to let that go?" he asked quietly.

A knowing grin, small at first, crept along Tonga's face. "Because you're all far too hard on yourselves, that's why. Jealousy is a hard one to let go." Offering a hand, he pulled Rimmer to his feet. "Apologies, but I have far less patience for it nowadays it seems."

"I don't blame you. I think I'd have a run a mile by now."

Tonga sniggered. "It's all a case of getting in the right mindset," he offered. "Turning all of those skills you once thought held you back in life into positive attributes that will help you fight." He shrugged loosely. "Gymnastics class, the school skipping team - "

Rimmer gasped in feigned offence. "I was never in the school skipping team."

"Arnold J. Rimmer, I've known you for decades." Tonga arched an eyebrow. "You want to try that answer again?"

Rimmer held his stare before dropping his gaze and the pretence. "Captain," he nodded eventually.

"As mocked and bullied as you were for it back then, the sense of balance and agility it benefited you is going to come in infinitely handy in these coming weeks." He flashed a cheeky yet reassuring wink. "The ones before you worked that out."

Rimmer nodded as he glanced out of the window, where the view stretched as far as the open desert beyond the city walls. He could almost make out the footprints his predecessors had left behind for him in the sand.

"Hey! I'm not hanging around just to watch you stare out of a window." Tonga slid back into his defence position. "Again."


	3. Month two

_Day 34_

He'd always come back to haunt his dreams when he least expected it.

Rimmer awoke with a startled gasp, his flailing limbs tangled in the sheets on the bed. His skin was slick with sweat, simulated beads that stood out cold on his brow despite the intense heat. He swore blind he could still hear his own tortured screams, echoing from his nightmares and into the early morning air of reality.

As his frantic breathing slowed, realisation dawned. It had been almost three long years since he'd come face to face with him on that torture table. But that cold metallic leer still had the power to render him paralytic with fear. Even the name sent a shiver up his spine.

Pizzak 'Rapp.

The small open window above his bed filled the room with the sounds of the morning; the chattering birds, the calls to prayer from the temple's courtyard, the street vendors calling out to sell their wares. And as his senses awakened and the Babel Programme in his light bee kicked in, the calls for _pai manawa_ and _mata whenua_ aurally morphed into _spiced tea_ and _fresh vegetables_.

Rimmer shivered involuntarily. They may have been thousands of light years apart, but there were nights when he could almost feel that simulant breathing down his neck.

* * *

 _Day 41_

It seemed that Rimmer was not the only one continually glancing over his shoulder.

Yet again, Tonga had been keen to rise early and observe his prayers before the other Maitiaki arrived, leaving Rimmer to his own devices in the temple.

He waited.

Rimmer could still smell the faint scent of old incense clinging to the air from last night's prayers, the golden burning plates surrounding him each now proffering tell-tale piles of ash. A visual memory stirred within him - _Red Dwarf's_ drive room peppered with the same tiny mounds - as if the temple had momentarily become a testament to the dead.

The mirror caught his eye in the peripherals of his vision. As it always did.

Even from this distance he could see his reflection clearly. The early morning air was still and silent around him as he stood alone, as if it too were waiting in expectation of something.

Deep down, he'd hoped that his epiphany with Tonga a couple of weeks before would have inspired this deity to allow him to face his fear. Yet his reflection stared back at him with the same impassive, expectant glance. Nothing.

Rimmer heard hurried footsteps across the temple hall and glanced up. Tonga was sweeping towards him at an impressive pace, a nervous smile plastered on his face.

"Ready to start the day then? Best get on with the training, eh? Plenty to do. I mean, we shouldn't waste the daylight when we have it."

Rimmer opened and closed his mouth, realising that he hadn't managed to get an answer in edgeways. "Erm, sure?" he offered uncertainly, allowing himself to be swept away by Tonga's arm.

And as they headed into the corridor that led to the stairs up to the training room, he heard it. Echoing behind them in the temple hall.

Tap _tap_ , tap _tap_ , tap _tap_.

* * *

 _Day 48_

Rimmer had to admit, the repetition was certainly helping him build his confidence.

Once again, the pair were balancing on the ceiling beams of the training hall - where they often ended up in the intense heat of the afternoons.

His balance was certainly improving, Rimmer thought to himself. Or rather, his balance was coming back to him. He traced his steps as he crossed the wooden beam, as if he were retracing old memories. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, a certain ancient cedar tree on the grounds of Io House had been his playground, his fortress. He'd spend hours at a time in its branches; watching, waiting, hiding.

"Better," Tonga nodded encouragingly as Rimmer hopped across to the opposite beam, landing with only a slight wobble. "Much better." He drew the sword from behind his back.

Rimmer's head whipped back to the audible sharpness that resonated behind him, his face falling. "Erm, Tonga - ?" he managed uncertainly.

"Time we kicked it up a notch," Tonga grinned, nodding at Rimmer to follow suit. "Well then?"

Biting his lip, Rimmer steadied his feet and reached back to draw his own sword. Even this small act was enough to throw off his concentration and he fought to regain equilibrium. "You seriously can't expect me to fight you up here?" he squeaked.

Tonga gave a mocked gasp before steeling his features once more. "I don't know," he shrugged as he swung his sword with expert dexterity, his balance not marred for a single moment. "That's what makes training each of you so interesting. You all learn at different speeds."

Rimmer grimaced. His bets were on the fact he was lagging behind in the slow lane in first gear.

"I'm pulling your leg," Tonga snorted at his protégé's dubious look. "Not today, certainly, but one day you will be able to." He raised an eyebrow. "But for now? You need to practice your forms so that they're perfected in any situations, not just in the safety of a training hall. Now - Tiger Defence, please."

Rimmer did as he was told. Holding his balance, he slid down into a crouch; left leg extended along the beam, the right arm stretched out with the sword. Unlike the usual grounding and preparation this defence position gave him on the floor, at this height he felt decidedly wobbly.

"Stop working against the sword," Tonga instructed. He tapped Rimmer's right arm experimentally with the flat of his own blade and dismayed at the resulting tremble. "You need to let it become a part of you. Let it be your balance."

Rimmer watched as Tonga regarded him critically, his dark eyes flitting over his body to assess his position and form. He tried to keep his quivering to a minimum as he strained to keep his stability.

"Have you found your centre?" Tonga asked.

Rimmer nodded and immediately wished he hadn't. He steeled his balance. That was a close one.

There was a doubting pause. "You're sure?"

Another silence, this one equally uncertain. "Yes."

Rimmer kept his gaze locked with Tonga as he sank down to mirror his position opposite him. Those feline eyes danced with mischief as they flitted over him once more, quickly returning with a stare that masked a hidden smirk. Tonga opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead, with a swift, sharp hiss, he blew in his face.

Wincing unexpectedly, he found to his horror that it was all it took. His concentration and balance lost, Rimmer toppled backwards and fell to the ground with a yelp, thumping hard against the floorboards. Against his winded splutters, he could make out Tonga's stifled giggle.

"Hey, that wasn't fair!" Rimmer scowled up at him.

"Yeah you're right," Tonga conceded with a sarcastic sigh. "I'm sure your adversaries would not dream of an attack as extreme as blowing in your face."

* * *

 _Day 54_

The market was heaving; the humid air thick with the calls of vendors and furious bartering.

Laden with that morning's spoils - a host of vegetables and bread for the temple's kitchens - Rimmer edged his way through the crowds, following Tonga's swiftly retreating back as he continued his browsing.

"Tonga - " he called after him breathlessly. He leapt to one side, narrowly dodging a passing bicycle rickshaw and spluttering on the dust it kicked up in its wake. "Can't we head back now? We've got enough food to feed two hundred people!" Rimmer paused thoughtfully. "Or five stoned students with the munchies - "

"Stop complaining, we only need a few more things." Tonga stopped at a spice stall, the fragrant mounds spurting forth in bursts of reds and oranges. "Besides, it's good for you to get out and practice your Blerion."

Rimmer blinked, surprised. "What's wrong with my Blerion?" he pressed. Perhaps his Babel Programme was on the blink.

Tonga regarded him with ill-conceived disdain from the shadows of his hood. "Because you speak like a tourist, that's why," he explained. "No soul." He turned back to the spices, sniffing the cloves appreciatively, before muttering under his breath, "plus your accent and pronunciation are awful."

Riled, Rimmer scowled. "Hey! There's nothing wrong with my - !"

"Ana- _ke._ "

"What?"

"Ana- _ke_. Not ana- _ki_ ," Tonga corrected.

Rimmer sighed. This was far too confusing to wrap his head around. With the way the Babel Programme worked, his mind would speak in English yet his lips would enunciate the Blerion translation. "But I can't control that, it's in the programme - "

"Then perhaps you should _learn_ ," came the short reply.

Rimmer clamped his mouth shut. The less he incriminated his poor pronunciation the better. He settled for a scowl instead.

As Tonga began to haggle with the stall-holder, Rimmer turned to survey the heat-hazed horizon of the market with an impatient groan. Across the road, the food stalls were hard at work; the make-do cooks stirring great vats of spiced cuisine and dishing up the eager crowds at impressive speed.

And that's when he saw her.

Through the steam that curled up from the bubbling vats, a lady was chatting amiably with a stall-holder, her long slender fingers raised to her mouth, giggling with some lost joke. An infectious smile tugged unaware at the edge of Rimmer's mouth in an idiotic parody of hers. She was a stunner alright. Her head may have been covered with a red and gold patterned scarf, but those gorgeous emerald-green eyes still managed to glimmer from the shadowed protection it offered.

As she readjusted her scarf their eyes met, and Rimmer swallowed awkwardly. She seemed shocked at first, perhaps taken aback at seeing a human in such a place. But soon a small - and was that flirtatious? - smile spread across her face and her eyes dropped to the floor self-consciously, before flitting up to regard him under those long dark lashes once more.

Rimmer was wrenched from his obsessive stare by a sharp smack to the head.

"Ow! Hey!"

Tonga stood beside him, distinctly unimpressed. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed under his breath. "Have you not been paying attention? No eye contact with strangers, it's the height of rudeness!" He threw up his arms despairingly. " _Lati hekmat_ , are you making it your aim to insult everyone you come across here?"

Rimmer dropped his head low, the pair instead sneaking glances from under their hoods. "So who is she?" he whispered.

Tonga sighed, relenting. "Kahine's wife."

"Kahine?"

Tonga nodded subtly towards the large GELF that approached her, settling his huge hands protectively around her waist and asking her an unheard question. Built like a Yukon bear trapper, his enormous stomach strained against a gold-buckled belt, the studded buttons descending his chest struggling to keep the fine woven jacket in place.

"He's the most famous landowner in the city," he explained as Kahine paid the stall-holder in exchange for the layered tiffin of food. "He's a ruthless businessman. Owns the goldmine in the desert, four miles beyond the city walls."

"And - er - what's her name?" Rimmer asked, hoping he'd sound nonchalant.

Tonga frowned incredulously as she pulled her scarf across her face in a theatrical act of decorum. Flashing Rimmer once last lingering glance, she followed her husband's guiding arm and disappeared into the milling crowds.

"Trouble," he said simply.

* * *

 _Day 61_

The late afternoon light was still strong; thrusting through the stained glass windows in long beams that pooled on the floorboards. The blade glinted as it cut through the flurries of dust that danced in the illuminated pillars, slicing silently through the air.

Rimmer was alone in the hall practicing his _katas_ \- forms that trained swordsmen by building the fluid and economical movements deep into muscle memory with continual repetition. Tonga had told him that they also served a greater purpose - to develop _Mushin_ \- single minded, unwavering focus, to ensure his mind would be clear and calm in combat. Even in the face of death.

Although the prospect of death held little gravitas with him - after all, he'd already bought the t-shirt from the gift shop and all that - it was his sense of fear that he felt determined to eradicate. Fear had defined him his entire life. And now, even in death, it still held an icy grip.

Pizzak 'Rapp.

And Rimmer knew. He knew that he'd have to face him again sooner or later. He pictured that metallic leer before him as he slashed harder, parried faster. Of course, when that day came, there was no way he'd be able to fight him off with a sword. But it was the _mindset_ he so desperately wanted. The confidence to know, to _feel_ that he was ready to stand alone as the hero he was supposed to be and take him on.

He would be ready. He swung a _kesa giri._ He would be fearless. He sliced a _yoko giri_. He would be…

"Hello?"

The shocked yelp that he gave was far less heroic than he was hoping for as he swivelled back to face the unfamiliar voice. He blinked in surprise at the figure stood in the doorway, those beautiful emerald green eyes unmistakable. It was the lady from the market a few days before - Kahine's wife - swathed from head to foot in a hooded, flowing cloak.

"Hello - " squeaked the reply and he winced at the sound. That didn't sound much better either.

She giggled warmly, casting her gaze about the hall. "Is Tonga around?" she enquired.

Rimmer regained his faculties and his 'Ace' voice. He shook his head. "No, sorry. He left for the prayer ceremony about an hour ago, I think."

She sighed theatrically. "Shame," her lips muttered, although her eyes seemed to flash a conflicting sentiment.

There was a charged moment that hung in the air between them before Rimmer remembered his manners and dropped his eyes, not looking directly at her. He heard her footsteps as she approached, dipping her head as if to snare his attention once more.

"I'm Sayura, by the way," she offered.

Rimmer kept his focus steadfastly on the floor. "I'm - "

"Ace. I know," Sayura cut in quickly, as if she seemed to know the rest of the script. Her silken voice dropped low, yet audible enough to snatch his attention. "You're not the first incarnation I've met. You and I go back a long time."

All protocol lost, Rimmer's gaze met hers, mostly out of surprise. "R-really?" He was stunned. He'd met hundreds of people on his travels over the last three years, yet none of them, bar Tonga, had known the truth about him.

A smile stretched across Sayura's face that belied her mysticism. "You must be tired," she stated. "You could do with a drink." She turned back to the door, indicating with a nod of the head. "Come."

* * *

The opulence of the house spoke volumes about the success of Kahine's trade. The whitewashed walls hung with rich tapestries, the furniture carved from the finest polished mahogany, the floors decorated with large, luxurious woven rugs. The air was fragrant; the smell of incense and roses providing the final touch of perfection.

Rimmer was perched awkwardly on the edge of a sofa that was overflowing with beaded cushions when Sayura returned from the kitchen, clutching a steaming mug of fragrant tea.

"Here we are. Your favourite," she said demurely as she handed him the mug, not quite looking him in the eye.

"Thanks," Rimmer muttered, intrigued by the return of her decorum.

"Drink up," she urged, suddenly flashing him a curious smile. "I'll be back in a moment."

Rimmer craned back to watch as she headed for the bedroom, his eyes tracing over the curves of her hips and the strange curling of her tail that peeked out from under her cloak. With a mental smack around the head, he tore his gaze away and turned his attentions to the mug clasped in his hands. The gorgeous scent of honey and cardamom enveloped him and he drank deeply. Tonga was right. He was here to train, not to - literally - chase tail. He should be staying alert. He should be staying focused. He should be…

Woah.

He blinked quickly as his mind seemed to suddenly fluff up like cotton wool. That was odd. He could feel a tingling warmth spread through his chest; a familiarity that he couldn't quite place.

Rimmer eyed the tea suspiciously, dropping his nose for an evaluative sniff. There was _something_ else in there that he couldn't quite put his finger on. A mystery ingredient that was clearly masquerading as a member of the supporting cast of spices. He took another sip, rolling it around his mouth to allow his brain to process the memory.

Moonshine. It tasted like the mind-buggeringly strong GELF moonshine that Darka used to specialise in back on _Galactic Bazaar_.

Rimmer quickly placed the mug on the table before him as if it might suddenly spurt flame. With the alcohol content in it, he wouldn't be overly surprised if it did. His mind started to spin. Smeg, he needed some air.

He crossed the room to the large open window, sucking in thick lungfuls of the humid desert air to clear his head. Perhaps she thought he'd looked a little wired when he was training and needed to relax? The sensible portion of his brain flashed a large warning sign, ranting that he should make his excuses and leave. But he couldn't help but be curious. How on Io did this woman know the truth about who he really was? What could have led his predecessors to bestow such a secret?

Rimmer gazed out of the window. The house overlooked the Lati Temple and its courtyard below, with fabulous views across the city. The sun had finally abdicated its hold on the heavens and now began to sink behind the sandstone buildings; the clouds stained stark red against the purple sky.

He heard footsteps behind him as Sayura approached. "What do you think?" he heard her ask quietly.

Rimmer nodded politely as a flock of birds fluttered past, silhouetted against the bleeding clouds. He wanted to keep her sweet if he hoped to find out why she knew so much. "It's beautiful," he conceded.

There was a coy silence before - "I meant me."

Rimmer turned back to face her. No longer protected by the demure swathes of her hooded cape, Sayura's body was now barely concealed by a Blerion silk green robe that left little to the imagination. That was, of course, until she let it slip from her shoulders and ripple silently to the floor. Then Rimmer's imagination was left with no gaps to fill in. It was now abundantly clear how exactly she'd gotten to know the earlier versions of himself.

"Oh."

She slinked up to him, pressing her warm body against his. A kiss landed teasingly light on his mouth, tugging gently on his lower lip as she pulled away. "So what do you think?" she repeated meaningfully.

Rimmer's eyebrow twitched helplessly, the rest of his body frozen in shock. He was feeling so dumbstruck, he was barely able to string a cohesive sentence together. "Mm - " he mumbled, non-committal.

Sayura turned, deliberately brushing her long, elegant tail against the part of his trousers that he was certain had been less conspicuous a few moments before. She sashayed across the room to the bedroom doorway, pausing to glance back over her bare shoulder at him. Her emerald green eyes glimmered in the dying light, dancing with mischief.

"Well? Are you coming?"

Some questions in life really are quite stupid.

* * *

Whenever he looked back on that evening - a moment he often found himself returning to when the boredom and frustration of a celibate existence in the temple proved a little too overwhelming - he could only really describe it as _mind-blowing_.

He was a little nervous at first. Despite his various sexual partners over the last three years, with whom he'd built up quite a repertoire of tips and tricks, it quickly dawned on him that his notches on the bedpost had all been human.

But he soon discovered the language of sex to be fairly universal. A well-rehearsed flick of the tongue _here_ and a perfectly-timed slip of the finger _there_ and _oh god yes, don't stop_ , translated perfectly well from the Blerion dialogue.

* * *

Kahine heaved a tired, bodily sigh as he closed the door behind him and trudged along the hallway to the spiral staircase. His business meeting with the Sydian gold stock buyers had ended prematurely when he'd told them exactly where they could stick their paltry 'offer'. He snarled, his temper flaring. Thieves, the lot of them.

As he reached the lounge at the top of the stairs, he paused thoughtfully, raising his nose to the air. An unfamiliar smell marred the sweet scent of roses and incense, clinging resolutely to his nostrils. At the corner of his eye he noticed a half-drunk mug of spiced tea abandoned on the table.

"Sayura?" his booming voice called. No reply.

Kahine followed the unfamiliar scent instinctively as it led him to the closed bedroom door and he strained to listen beyond the thick mahogany wood. The air was peppered with guttural moans and the odd gasp of pleasure that betrayed exactly what his wife was up to.

His face darkened yet he kept calm, opening the door with as much tact and restraint as was befitting a Blerion of his class and stature.

* * *

Rimmer jumped visibly as the bedroom door almost flew off its hinges; a large, domineering form bursting through the doorway with a look of unbridled rage. His stomach knotted. It was the husband, and _oh Lati hekmat,_ this GELF's wife was still astride him.

His hands leapt away from where they'd been grasping Sayura's hips, as if this would miraculously make the embrace look any less compromising.

"This…uh…" his words came slowly, his chest still heaving from the exertion. "This isn't what it looks like - "

Kahine didn't look impressed. In fact, Kahine looked like he was growing rather murderous. His almighty knuckles cracked as his fingers curled, retreating back into fists.

* * *

The sunset glowed on the horizon, the humid air still clinging to what the remained of the day. The temple courtyard echoed with the chants of the priests as they crossed the dusty square, calling out to Lati in prayer to keep their lives in purity.

Suddenly, a window high above them exploded. They reeled back in shock as the red stained glass shattered outwards, closely followed by a naked human who flew out with a strangled cry. He hit the dusty ground hard, the glass raining down on his helpless frame.

With a soft moan, the man pulled himself to his feet, the last remains of glass slipping from his bare back and falling to the ground with a distant tinkle.

His face fell in dismay as he straightened, his eyes flitting across the group with a distant panic. Clasping his hands together in prayer he offered a meek bow.

"Lati meehat neku hahstan," he mumbled in a strained accent.

The priests' hooded eyes moved in unison, dropping to his crotch before looking him in the eye once more.

The man opened his mouth to speak before realising the futility and clamping it shut once more. With a less than subtle clearing of the throat, he covered himself with his hands and walked away with what little dignity was left of him.

* * *

 _Day 62_

"You fell naked into the middle of the Lati evening prayers?"

"Oh come on, it can't have been that bad - "

"The priesthood have seen it as a bad omen and are embarking on a month-long fast!"

"Oh. That bad, eh?"

Tonga dragged his hands down his face, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "You're supposed to be learning to blend in with our culture!" he scolded. "Kahine is the wealthiest and most influential landowner in the city and he caught you bonking his missus!"

Rimmer shrugged pathetically. "She was naked and asked nicely - what was I supposed to do?"

He was quickly answered by a sharp smack round the head.

"Ow!"

" _That's_ for disobeying me," Tonga bit back. "Indulging her fetishes does _not_ count as being a good citizen."

Tonga scowled, shouldering the hologram as he passed. Rimmer drummed his fingers against his thigh. He clearly wasn't happy with him.

"Before we begin today's training, you'll start with 500 press-ups." Tonga turned back to him and dipped his head low, regarding him from the shadows of his hood. "Followed by 500 sit-ups."

Rimmer bit back a smirk as he sank to the floor to begin the gruelling regime. Totally worth it.


	4. Month three

_Day 63_

He was running faster than he ever had before, sucking in ragged lungfuls of humid air that he didn't even need. It was habitual.

"Keep up!" came the cry ahead of him.

If there was one thing Rimmer had been training in for many many years now, it was doing a runner. His formulative childhood years spent running away from all sorts of tortures and threats from his older brothers, plus his adult experiences escaping from all kinds of beasties and creatures on a variety of strange and wild worlds, had refined his Leg It Mode to an art.

Yet even he was struggling to keep up with Tonga as they raced along the rooftops of the city, following in his footsteps as he sprinted, leapt, clambered and slid across every level they could find. Over the last week, Tonga had been keen to teach him the dexterity, speed and balance that came so naturally to the Blerions and their feline ancestors. Parkour was a difficult, yet infinitely helpful skill for the Maitiaki to grasp; whether chasing after an intruder or escaping a mortal danger, many a guardian had thanked Lati over the centuries for such an ability.

Whilst Tonga landed on the neighbouring roof with the grace of a Russian gymnast, Rimmer's efforts were less than dignified. He knew all too well that he had to land into a roll, the only way to prevent serious injury. Indeed, he could frame Tonga's expectant face through the diamond formed before him by his ready fingers as he leapt. But his back twisted awkwardly as he landed, wrenching forth a string of profanities.

"Ow! Bloody, buggering hell - !"

"Less swearing, more running. Now let's go."

Rimmer bit back a scowl at Tonga's retreating form as he picked himself up again, the soles of his feet burning. He often found himself wondering whether some elements of his training were really essential, his brain flirting with the premise that Tonga and the computer were in it together - putting him through hell so they could have a good laugh at his struggles.

They were running above the food markets now, the tell-tale steam of the cooking vats below curling up in the air around him. Yet despite the delicious smells, a sickening thought hit him as the next rooftop loomed. The gap between the food market and vegetable stalls was vast, and this crazy Blerion before him clearly had every intention of crossing it in a single jump.

Tonga raced towards the roof's edge with an almost frightening lack of restraint and leapt, his arms wind milling as if to propel him forward. He expertly grabbed the ridge of the wall as he landed, simultaneously absorbing the impact with both feet, and pulled himself up onto the ledge with little effort.

But it was a leap too far for Rimmer. He skidded to a halt just before the edge of the rooftop, kicking up a cloud of dust before him. Down below, the vegetable stall-holders went about their business unawares, calling out their wares to the milling crowds.

Rimmer glanced up, shielding his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun, to see Tonga shaking his head in disappointment.

"Stop letting your fear hold you back!" he called across the expanse. Turning, he sped off once more, clambering up the far wall before leaping out of sight.

Rimmer's nostrils flared. Forget this. He was taking the stairs.

* * *

 _Day 71_

As Rimmer entered the training hall, he shielded a yawn behind the back of one hand whilst clasping a small clay _mutki_ of tea with the other, his slow, meandering walk sending echoes of the creaking floorboards across the empty space.

Despite it being far too early in the morning, he secretly loved this time of the day. Tonga would be observing his morning prayers in the temple below, allowing Rimmer to enjoy the beautiful views across the city as the markets came to life, whilst simultaneously enjoying a mug of tea alone in the quiet.

As he poured himself a cup of _garam chai_ \- a spiced tea infused with cardamom and pepper - a whimsical smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as a half-lost memory resurfaced. Back on _Starbug_ , Kryten would make them each a cup of tea every morning without fail. Lister's would be a traditional builder's fare with at least five sugars, most likely in order to nurse yet another self-induced hangover. The Cat's would be so milky, he often wondered whether it had any tea in it at all - perhaps his own secretive way of indulging in his ancestral drink of choice.

And then there was his own. Black and no sugar. He'd only indulge in a little milk when they'd managed to find a batch on an abandoned derelict and he was one hundred per cent certain it was, in fact, from a cow and not a dog (retrieved from stasis of course - after all, milk does tend to go a little funky after three million years) or sometimes the powdered variety if he fancied living a little.

Rimmer shook his head, rather tickled by the memory. Back in those days, choosing cow's milk for his tea was considered to be taking a risk. Nowadays what he termed as a 'risk' would be, well, let's say a _tad_ more adventurous. He took a sip and sighed contentedly, the tea sweetened unashamedly with honey. Once obsessed with his health, he'd soon realised it was all for nought. As Ace, it seemed he had developed a metaphorical sweet tooth for life.

Suddenly he paused, his senses awake and alert. He realised in that moment that he wasn't alone in the room after all. He waited and listened, not moving a muscle.

Only a faint ripple of fabric and a sharp hum behind him gave it away. In one swift, fluid movement, Rimmer drew the sword from his back and whipped round just in time for his blade to block the fatal trajectory of another. He could feel the resulting buzz of energy from the resonating swords pressed together.

Upon seeing who his attacker was, however, Rimmer released an aggravated sigh. "Tonga! Smegging hell!" He held back a barely concealed snort of annoyance as he noticed some of his tea had sloshed over the rim of the mug and was now patiently scalding his left hand. "If you wanted some tea, all you had to do was ask nicely."

The pair drew back their swords. Rimmer sheathed his once more, a little too forcefully, and wiped his burning hand with his sleeve, muttering obscenities.

Tonga merely watched him wordlessly, a small, knowing smile threatening to conquer his face.

Not long now.

* * *

 _Day 78_

The _Kapenga o Ra-kaunui -_ the Festival of the Full Moon - was in full swing.

Unlike the usual quiet and hush that descended upon the city at night, the markets were alive with business. The stalls were lit by flickering candlelight, bringing an almost eerily magical air to proceedings.

Wrapping his long, hooded cloak tighter across him in protection against the desert night chill, Rimmer smiled to himself. He'd grown to love this festival. Music of lutes and pipes drifted up to the starry, cloudless sky, the square heaving with people dancing and laughing.

Crowded stalls dished out clay mugs of moonshine, although Rimmer had swiftly learned to steer clear of the stuff. Even after three weeks since his encounter with Sayura, he had only just managed to crawl his way out of the dog house.

It was like an aural _trompe l'oeil._ One minute Rimmer was listening to the pipe music, the next his hearing seemed to re-focus on the animated conversation playing out at a stall a few feet away.

"Can you not understand what I'm saying?" came the slow, patronising observation.

He half-turned, immediately having to stop himself from jumping visibly in shock. A group of holograms stood, unamused, before a trinket stall-holder, the leader gesturing dramatically as if to enunciate his point.

There was five of them altogether it seemed, their matching black uniforms with red stripe details on the collars and cuffs ensured that they all stood out like sore thumbs in a sea of organic, earthly fabrics. With their military look and unfriendly air, their presence alone was attracting snide sideways looks and hushed whispers from the crowds of Blerions that swept past, undeterred.

Rimmer shook his head in embarrassed disbelief as he continued to listen. They weren't even bothering trying to speak Blerion, merely conversing in louder and slower English in pompous, condescending tones to make themselves understood.

The head of the group - a tall, broad-shouldered man with a square jaw and receding, cropped dark hair - produced a small print-out of a photograph and pointed to it animatedly. "There's a reward on offer for any information on the location of this man," he explained in a low, gravelly voice. Despite straining to see, Rimmer was too far away to make it out. "Ring any bells?"

The space hero within him was tempted to step forward and offer his assistance. These holograms seemed to be in desperate need of help and, after all, as Ace it was the first clause of his job description. Yet something held him back in the shadows, perhaps the instinctive part of him that had flourished from integrating himself into the Blerion community. A small yet insistent voice whispered to him to stay hidden, keep out of sight.

The stall-holder peered half-heartedly at the photograph before regarding the group once more with barely concealed contempt. "Ignorant, arrogant beings, the lot of you," he muttered to himself.

The leader exchanged confused glances with the man stood beside him, the meaning clearly lost on them. Rimmer watched from the shadows of his hood as he gave an impatient growl before leading the group away with a flick of the hand.

As he watched the group disappear into the heaving crowds, Rimmer bit his lip. These were holograms just like him; an ever-expanding race in this universe, borne out of a shared human experience. Yet for a reason he was unable to comprehend, the void between them felt overwhelmingly unconquerable.

* * *

 _Day 86_

It was perhaps this paradoxical debate that circled relentlessly in his mind that had distracted him from his training these last few days.

During his last three years as Ace, he'd begun to notice pockets of resentment against the holograms amongst some races and species in the infinite cosmos. It was a small yet persistent prejudice that he hadn't quite managed to decipher. Up until this point, he'd fervently believed it was an unjust discrimination, based purely upon the universal fear of death itself. After all, a hologram was a walking representation of everyone's mortality; a visual reminder that death would catch up with everyone in the end.

Yet now, he had a horrible suspicion that another force was in play. That there was a wholly justifiable reason why even the Blerions - a usually friendly and welcoming species - were wary and contemptuous when the holograms had showed up at the festival last week. Whatever it was, he was uncomfortable to try and eke out for fear of risking exposing himself for what he really was. Tonga may know the truth about him, and had demonstrated kind and unwavering support, but he didn't want to push his luck too far. He suspected correctly that a small part of him didn't really want to know the truth.

"Come on! Keep up!" hollered a familiar voice ahead of him.

Once again, he and Tonga were tracing the city's skyline, racing high above the people below as they ran, climbed and leapt from building to building.

Rimmer's chest burned with the exertion. He may not be human, but he certainly _felt_ it.

Steam curled up in the air around him, billowing away from his feet as he raced past. They were running above the food stalls now, the delicious smells wafting up and swirling to mix with the distant bartering calls. The Jump - punctuated in his own mind as the one he had never dared to attempt - was approaching fast: the gap between the food stalls and the vegetable market.

Up until now, the speed of his run had been inspired by dredged up memories of past fears that had aided his well-tuned art of legging it. Yet this time, something instinctively stubborn inside of him fanned a flame of determination. He wasn't running _from_ something, but _to_ something. He felt himself speeding up. He'd show them that he was just as capable as his predecessors. He grit his teeth as the wind swept back his hood. He'd prove them all wrong.

And before long, he realised that he was too close to the edge of the rooftop to back out now. With a silent prayer, he pushed off from the ledge and leapt as far as he was able. His arms wind milled as if in slow-motion, propelling him towards the oncoming rooftop and Tonga's shocked expression.

He was going to make it, he realised in a moment of undiluted joy. He was actually going to do it. He was -

Uh-oh. Perhaps not.

The ledge of the rooftop drew upwards far too high in his vision to grasp as the oncoming wall rushed towards him. Absorbing the impact hard against his feet, he latched onto the ancient brick, which immediately crumbled from the wall under his fingertips. He scrabbled desperately at the loose sandstone as he scraped down its surface, the resulting dust and rubble showering over him as he fell.

" _Smeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeg_ _!"_

He felt his back smash through a wooden stall cover that splintered in his wake before landing bodily into a stack of soft vegetables with a sickening squelch.

Rimmer hauled himself upright with a weak groan, squashed tomatoes oozing between his fingers as the crowds surrounding him giggled hysterically. The stall-holder blinked in shock before his face darkened with a frown.

"What the hell do you think you - ?"

"It's ok, he's with me!" came a voice from above. Rimmer glanced up as Tonga slid effortlessly down the metal drainpipe to join them. He offered a solemn bow, hands pressed together. "I'm sorry, my friend. The temple will re-pay you for your lost goods."

The stall-holder straightened, visibly flustered by Tonga's appearance. He smoothed down his once-white apron, now patterned with the splattered remains of his tomatoes, and shook his head vehemently. "Brother, apologies, I didn't realise he was under your training." He waved his hand, dismissing the offer immediately. "Please, the priesthood has given plenty of support to me and my family during darker days. I require no compensation."

As the stall-holder began to gather up whatever unspoilt vegetables he could salvage and the crowds lost interest and moved on, Rimmer looked away, too embarrassed to look Tonga in the eye. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I failed."

Yet Tonga's face was split with a wide, proud grin. "Not at all," he reassured warmly. Offering a hand, he hauled Rimmer out of the cart with a _schmuck_. "You attempted it," he said, grasping him by the shoulders. "That's the hardest thing to conquer."

Rimmer felt a strange shiver crawl up his spine as Tonga drew him close enough to whisper into his ear.

"But you're still letting your fear hold you back."

* * *

 _Day 91_

Tonga's braying laugh echoed across the hall.

"It's not funny."

But Tonga was less than convinced. His giggles doubled in ferocity as he clutched his side, hand still grasping his sword.

Rimmer scowled openly, the tip of his sword resting against the floorboards. Surrounding the blade was a circle of fabric that had rippled silently to the floor, sliced neatly from his arm. The sleeves of his Maitiaki outfit were no more.

"Seriously Tonga, you can't keep slicing up my smegging clothes!" he grumbled, stooping down to scoop up the severed cloth from the floor. "That bloody seamstress in the market is beginning to think that I'm doing it on purpose because I have a crush on her!"

"What's wrong with that?" Tonga teased in between splutters, highly amused. "I thought you had a thing for the ladies here?"

"She's seventy-three," Rimmer bit back through gritted teeth.

Tonga dismissed this with a wave of the hand, wiping a tear from his eye. "Whatever. Besides, it's your own fault. You're not blocking properly. What's happened to your concentration? You seem distracted - "

The door to the hall creaked open, and suddenly Tonga's thread was lost.

With a gasp that caught in his throat, he immediately sheathed his sword and dropped to his knees in reverence, head bowed to the floor. Rimmer hardly had time to make a second glance at the dark figure now framed in the doorway that Tonga seemed so afraid to look in the eye. Unsure what to do, he simply followed suit.

Lonely footsteps echoed across the hall, punctuating that strange rhythm which seemed to have been haunting his every movement since he'd arrived.

Tap _tap_ , tap _tap_ , tap _tap_.

Rimmer could feel the awkward silence thickening with each approaching step. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tonga's hands clutching at one another in his lap, the knuckles of his fingers whitening wordlessly. And as the footsteps stopped directly in front of Rimmer - wrinkled, sandaled feet creaking the floorboards before him - Tonga finally felt compelled to speak.

"Mahita, if you'll allow me to explain - "

But the Mahita wouldn't, silencing Tonga with a swift and silent hand gently raised. Instead, he stooped closer to Rimmer's head and sniffed deeply, taking in the new scents against the distant notes of incense, before letting forth an exasperated sigh. Eventually he spoke, with an old, measured voice that gave away his advanced years.

"The Maitiaki form a tradition going back generations, Tonga. Thousands of years."

"Mahita, I understand - "

"And I can turn a blind eye when you train the sons of man in our arts." He sighed, a low growl rumbling in its depths. "But I cannot stay silent when you insist on training spirits of the dead in our earthly secrets."

Rimmer flinched visibly. He moved to glance up at the ancient Blerion standing before him but checked himself swiftly and returned to staring back at the floor.

"I may be going blind, hologram, but I can see through you for what you are. You and your kind do not belong here." His tone held less malice, more patient, yet firm explanation. "When Lati calls our souls away, we must obey. Our image should not continue to walk the earth as a ghost purely from our own choosing."

Tonga inhaled deeply, clearly steeling his nerve. "Mahita, it is my honorary right as a fully-fledged brother of the Maitiaki to train who I feel to be worthy."

The Mahita fell silent for a moment as he contemplated his argument, his tail twitching in irritation under his long cloak. "Tonga, you and I both know how dangerous holograms are," he replied evenly, as if Rimmer wasn't even there. "They have no respect for Lati or the gods and goddesses of this universe. They believe they have nothing left to fear as they have conquered death itself."

The Mahita sighed sadly as he regarded the hologram knelt before him. "But what they do not realise is that death has already conquered them. It makes them warped and bitter that they have not crossed over to eternal rest."

Rimmer didn't move. He couldn't. His entire being felt numb at the words.

"Heed my warning." The Mahita's milky grey eyes flitted up to meet Tonga's. "For I believe you already know this one's fate."

There was a still silence that hung heavy against the scented air. Then the creaking of floorboards before tap _tap_ , tap _tap_ , tap _tap_ , and the sound of a closing door.

Tonga suddenly sprung up to his feet. "Come on!" he announced breezily, as if not comprehending or acknowledging what had just been said. He shielded his eyes against the orange glare of the sunbeams that thrust through the ancient glass windows. "The sun will still allow us an hour of training." In the silence that followed, he turned back to Rimmer. "Ace?"

Yet Rimmer had not shifted his gaze from the floor. After a moment of contemplation, he simply stood and left the hall wordlessly.

* * *

 _Day 92_

He'd spent the previous night simply wandering the streets aimlessly, as if he truly were a ghost walking, unnoticed, amongst the living. Beyond the city walls, the desert was cold and timeless; the endless peaks and troughs of the sand dunes providing a serene and calming influence as he passed by silently.

Rimmer shivered against the sharp desert wind as it whipped mercilessly in his wake, billowing his grey robes behind him. He'd never been a religious man; his parents' fanaticism with the Seventh Day Advent Hoppist Movement had been enough to put any developing young mind off the idea. And surely if there _was_ anybody up there, orchestrating his demise at the untimely age of 31 before he'd secured at least one foothold on the career ladder or more than one notch on the bedpost was just plain cruel? Or perhaps he was correct in his assumption that someone on high seemed to enjoy purely tugging his puppet strings and having a laugh at his expense.

There hadn't been anything at the end. No pomp or ceremony before the Creator that he could recall. He'd often found himself straining to remember how it had felt to die. All he knew for certain was that there were no words in the English language to describe it. So intense and all-encompassing. So whisperingly brief, almost unnoticed. Painful. Peaceful.

But thinking of his death and the physical dichotomies it churned up had often given Rimmer a headache in the past, so he would force himself to think of RISK and cheese sandwiches instead.

Yet now he knew that he had to face it. The mirror. His fear. Himself.

The cool night air wafted through the open windows of the Lati Temple, sending wisps of incense stretching lazily across the room. The hall was silent now. No chanting or song. No whispers or prayer. Just him.

He regarded his reflection wordlessly as he sat cross-legged before it. Minutes and hours drifted past, unnoticed in the silence. Two sets of hazel eyes stared at one another in expectation. The distant flecks of green danced within the bronze, illuminated by the candle that flickered beside him.

"Is that why you won't show me?" Rimmer eventually asked his reflection, his voice barely a whisper. "Because I'm dead? Because you don't believe I should be here?"

His reflection offered nothing. In fact, it seemed to be keeping in with perfect synchronisation with his own words and movements.

Rimmer sighed raggedly, his eyes closing momentarily before returning to himself once more. "But it's supposed to be my destiny to do this," he explained, his tone now etched with his old whiny sense of desperation he'd hoped to keep in check. "Too many people are depending on me. Too many lives are at risk."

Nothing.

He could feel his nails digging into his palms. "And I know I'm going to have to face - " Rimmer paused, the name catching in his throat, " - _him_ again, and I'm scared." He blinked in surprise at the revelation, yet relaxed as a strange sense of calm overwhelmed him with the admission. "I'm scared I'm not good enough."

Rimmer watched his reflection for a reaction, scarcely daring to breathe. Yet his mirror self looked just as he felt - anxious, lost, and afraid.

" _Please_ ," his reflection begged, and for a moment he felt a jolt of excitement that it had finally worked. But then he noticed from the red-rimmed, desperate eyes which stared back at him that it had been his own plea which had spilled forth, unchecked.

His mouth hung open as if to speak once more, but instead he looked away with a distant nod of the head, unsure what there was left to say. Eyes sinking to the floor, he pulled himself to his feet, clasped his hands together in a small, respectful bow and stooped to blow out the candle. He watched for a moment as the smoke from the wick curled up in the darkness before walking away.

The blue glow of the moonlight lay a path for him along the stone floor as he headed for the doorway, the air still and silent. Which made it all the more chilling when he heard it.

 _Knock knock knock_

Rimmer stopped dead in his tracks, catching the breath in his throat as he listened.

 _Knock knock knock_

It was the dull, tinny sound of desperate taps against glass, as if someone behind him were trying to snare his attention. He began to tremble.

 _Knock knock knock_

Curling his fingers back into tight fists and steeling himself with a low breath, Rimmer turned back slowly, as if afraid to shatter the illusion. And sure enough, like the fleeting shape of a figure you sometimes catch in the corner of your eye, there was _someone_ standing in the mirror.

It was himself.

For a moment, all Rimmer could do was watch, motionless with disbelief, as this mirror version of himself rapped fervently on the glass once more, his eyes pleading for help. Yet as curiosity overtook him, he stalked cautiously closer, his eyes not daring to tear away from his mirror self as he continued to knock desperately against the glass, his cries for aid strangely silent, as if trapped inside.

This version of him looked rather different; a strange combination of the Ace wig and a sleeker, newer incarnation of his old blue navigation uniform sat in uneasy alliance. Yet most unsettling of all, this mirror self seemed frantic with fear, his entire projected image flickering, twitching and corrupting.

Standing only inches away yet worlds apart, Rimmer slid back his voluminous grey hood, as if the shadows it cast over his eyes had somehow silhouetted this illusion before him. And as their shocked stares finally met, this simple gesture seemed to spark his reflection's downfall.

His mirror self grasped his temples, teeth grit in pure agony as he bent-double. His image began to bleed as he shuddered violently, an enveloping black shadow seeping through his uniform until it overwhelmed him completely. He glanced up to look almost beyond Rimmer, and shouted at the top of his lungs. The cries themselves were completely silent, lost behind the glass, but a cold shiver crept up Rimmer's spine at the shape of the name that formed on his lips.

 _Lister._

With a final shudder his mirror self sank to his knees, a forgotten hand streaking against the glass between them, before falling still.

Trying to steady his breath as much as possible, Rimmer sank down on his haunches to join him, dipping his head as if to snatch his attention from under the blonde wisps that shadowed his face.

"Hello?" he ventured, his voice suddenly sounding so small and insignificant. Rimmer's eyes flitted up to the lost hand against the glass. After a moment's hesitation, he pressed a hand against his as if in connection, the glass under his palm warm and pulsing. "Can you hear me?"

Without warning, his mirror self whipped up his head and stared at him intently. His eyes were now black and dead, rimmed with shadow against a deathly pale face. Rimmer drew back, shocked, yet his hand seemed stuck fast, the glass between their palms now white-hot, sealing them together. A skin-crawling grin crept across his double's face as his eyes locked with his.

 _Watch_ , commanded a voice in his head; its tone horribly resonant of his own yet lost to corrupted, electronic feedback.

It was only snatches of images and sensations that flashed before him, like short, sharp stabs of prophecy. Violent images of war, death and destruction at his very own dark hand.

Him. Them. _Her_.

"No! No! No!"

Screwing his eyes closed as if to release himself from his own dead stare, he wrenched his hand free of the mirror and fell back hard onto the cold stone floor, panting hard.

"Ace?"

Rimmer sat bolt upright with a choked gasp. His dark mirror self had gone, to be replaced by his own panicked reflection and a grey hooded figure who stood some distance behind him.

"Are you alright?" Tonga ventured, his question seeming to ask much more than what it seemed.

Rimmer's breaths seemed to be caught between gasps and sobs, his entire being shaking visibly.

"Ace, _please_ , talk to me."

There was a hush that hung thick in the air between them; a horribly muggy silence that Rimmer had to swallow before he even felt capable of speech.

"He said you know my fate," he managed eventually. A pause, and then, "Is that what's going to happen to me?"

Tonga heaved a weary sigh. "What the mirror shows us isn't always literal. It might not come to pass," he offered gently.

Rimmer brushed a light hand against the mirror's surface before letting it fall into his lap once more. The glass was cold.

In the quiet that followed, Tonga dipped his head low so that his face was obscured in shadow, as if contemplating something, before regarding Rimmer in the mirror once more.

"Sometimes our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate," he explained quietly. "Sometimes our greatest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure."


	5. Reflections

Tonga had told him to forget about what he'd seen. But how could he?

 _That_ same image, _that_ same memory of his own twisted, evil self would stare back at him every time he closed his eyes. As if that haunting figure had been etched into the very darkness itself.

In the last few weeks since his encounter with the mirror, Rimmer had grown increasingly restless on this sandpit of a planetoid. Hadn't the mirror's prophecy been the final chapter? After all, he'd faced his fear, solved his own metaphysical dichotomy, bought the t-shirt, blah, blah, blah.

So how come he was still here?

Four months. Four tough, unforgiving months that felt just as long as years in his book. To be fair, he was under no delusion that the time had been well-spent, having learnt a host of new skills - both cultural and in combat. Of course, he'd never admit that to the computer. He didn't need her to be right about yet another point of contention - he lost arguments with her often enough thank you very much.

But having enjoyed his new-found freedom as Ace over the last three years - exploring countless new worlds and endless, beautiful star systems - it felt rather unnatural to now be cooped up within the same city walls, day in, day out. In fact, it felt horribly reminiscent of his years spent trapped on a certain red mining vessel…

Tonga wasn't much help either. Rimmer had asked him time and time again when he'd be ready to complete his Maitiaki training. Yet his answers remained stoically cryptic and vague - almost irritatingly so.

But it seemed that Rimmer hadn't picked up on the significance of Tonga's replies. Since his encounter with the mirror, the projection had subtly shifted from 'however long it takes' to 'whenever you feel ready'. The former seemed to intimate a long and winding road with no end on the horizon. The latter suggested that he was already at his destination - he just hadn't worked that out for himself yet.

* * *

Having taken his usual daily signal from the retreating light, Tonga had concluded the day's training and headed to the temple for the evening prayers with the rest of the Maitiaki brethren. Left to his own devices, Rimmer found himself meandering about the city for what felt like the thousandth time, trying to let his mind run blank.

The early evening air hung heavy from the day's heat, the sun now sinking low in the sky in anticipation of the night to come. The city square was far less busy now; the buzz of the market fading into the eerie orange glow.

Rimmer watched sullenly as the traders called out to the straggled remains of the crowds - final, desperate bartered offerings buoyant on the warm air. He couldn't understand the salesman desperation. After all, the same cycle would soon repeat itself; the seemingly endless night retreating in deference to the light once more. Relentless.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Startled, Rimmer swivelled back towards the voice. The familiar, hunched frame of Fasoula, one of the city's ancient palmists shuffled over to join him, a laden cloth bag slung across her back. At Rimmer's confused look, she gestured across the square to the distant turrets of the city walls, the fluttering flocks of birds silhouetted against the clouds.

"This time of the day," she explained patiently. "It's beautiful."

"Mm - " Rimmer replied, non-committal.

Fasoula shoulder-bumped him playfully - or rather nudged his arm, height not really being her advantage. "Plus, it's a great opportunity to grab some bargains," she winked. "Those traders will drop their trousers over prices once you lose the sun behind the city walls."

Rimmer snorted in amusement. Despite having known her for a couple of months now, hearing such bawdy humour coming from such an elderly upstanding member of society never failed to catch him off guard.

"It looks like you've cleaned them out!" he nodded good-naturedly to her sack, bulging with vegetables. His brow furrowed as a thought hit him. "That thing must weigh a tonne - "

"Oh how kind of you to offer," Fasoula sighed gratefully, easing off the sack from her shoulders with visible relief and thrusting it into Rimmer's hands. She toddled off across the market square, dusting off her hands. "Come on," she called over her shoulder. "I'll brew you some tea for your troubles."

Rimmer blinked twice at her retreating form, arms groaning under the weight of her goods. He opened his mouth to speak but promptly shut it once more with a groan, choosing to follow her instead.

Sometimes it just wasn't worth having the last word.

* * *

Jasmine tea is always a show of two acts.

Before you even come to sample its fragrant, soothing calm, it gives an almost ballet-like performance as the flower unfurls in the hot water, the green leaves curling back to reveal the beautiful orange petals within.

"You haven't even touched your tea there," Fasoula nodded, taking a grateful slurp of her own.

Chin resting in his arms nested on the table, Rimmer kept his gaze on the theatrical blossom. "Sorry. I guess I was just enjoying watching it," he mused distantly. He scraped the chair further towards the table as he sat upright, noticing how the flower danced in the flickering candlelight. He cupped his hands around the glass, feeling the heat resonating from within. "Seems almost a shame to drink it really."

Fasoula regarded him thoughtfully from behind the rim of her mug as she drank. It was safe to say that every incarnation she'd met of his hero before her had each held unique foibles that belied their subtle individuality. But this one? This one was…different.

She placed her mug on the table and smiled warmly. "Give me your hand, young man," she gestured.

" _Young man?_ " he echoed with a chuckle. "I've probably got at least three million years on you, you know." Reluctantly, he peeled away his hands from the warmth of the glass and proffered his left palm.

Fasoula paused briefly, a small smile threatening to conquer her face, before taking his hand. "Your left?" she observed. "And yet you are right-handed. Interesting."

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Does it make a difference?"

"Of course it makes a difference!" she parried back at his nonchalance, flicking his ear playfully like a scolding mother. "Your right palm reflects the outer person; your objective, outgoing self, and what you've experienced ," she explained evenly. "Your left palm is considered to reflect your spiritual and personal development; your natural self."

Nursing his sore earlobe, Rimmer frowned. "Alright, ok," he soothed. "So what does it say then?"

Fasoula's deep green eyes studied the lines of his hand; the intricate pattern of entrenched creases that his light bee had so carefully recorded and resurrected. "You've become greater in death than you were in life," she nodded, understanding. "Yet despite this new-found happiness, you still seem troubled." The latter was less of a reading, more of a careful observation past hooded eyes.

Rimmer raised an eyebrow. "Is it that obvious?" He sighed raggedly. "Tonga keeps telling me that I'll only be ready to complete my training when I feel ready. But how on Io do I know when I feel ready?" His eyes dropped to her finger tracing the lines of his palm. "I take it there isn't something a bit more useful marked there? Like a date or something?" he ventured.

She rolled her eyes. "Lati hekmat, some things never change," she muttered under her breath. "Always in such a hurry, every one of you."

Rimmer frowned, not comprehending. "Sorry, what?"

"Never mind."

A thin wisp of smoke curled up silently from the stick of incense sat on the table beside them. Feeling her concentrating fingers trace the skin of his palm, Rimmer sat in equal, quiet wait. He watched the red stick slowly retreat into ash, the grey ghost of a line hanging precariously but refusing to fall.

"A part of you is missing," she declared suddenly.

Rimmer snapped out of his reverie, turning back to face her. "What's missing?" he asked, brow furrowed.

She shook her head thoughtfully, eyes still locked on his palm in concentration. "It's not a what," she mused slowly. "It's a who."

Something inside Rimmer's chest fluttered, his gaze dropping to his palm before returning to her. "Who?" he echoed.

"A lover - united and then lost once more," she explained, her voice low. Her eyes flitted up to meet his for the first time in several minutes, the green sparkle now lacklustre in sympathy. "In turning from the path of enlightenment, you sacrificed a part of yourself and lost nirvanah."

The ash dropped to the plate.

Rimmer snatched back his hand as if he'd been burnt, scraping back the chair to stand. She knew all too well that what she'd said had rattled him. In the candlelight she could see how his eyes flickered with repressed anger, his face now set hard. Yet despite the defences he'd tried to shutter down, she still noticed when his Adam's apple retreated for a moment as he swallowed, as if to push something back that threatened to spill forth.

" _That_ ," he said quietly, his voice almost slipping, "was a long time ago."

There was a ripple of the curtain. And he was gone.

* * *

With the heat now rapidly dissipating, the evening desert wind began to bite with merciless venom. Rimmer pulled the hood over his face before sweeping through the market square at a swift pace, ignoring the polite nods and calls from the remaining traders. As soon as he stepped into the dark shadows of the alley opposite, he released his frustrations in the form of a low growl.

Over the last three years as Ace, he'd done his best to follow the computer's guidance and channel the calm, serene influence of his alter ego. And admittedly, most of the time he'd been rather successful at keeping his old self under check - biting back choice words, insults and panicked swearing more times than he could count. But right now he could feel his irritability and short-temper threatening to creep back in, as if they were hovering in the wings, waiting in the peripherals of his vision.

The memory of _that_ sacrifice - giving up everything he'd ever wanted for _her_ \- still had the ability to render him speechless years later.

But it wasn't just her memory that he couldn't let go. It was the resentment. The unshakeable bitterness that he'd committed one of the most selfless acts possible and gained nothing in return. No recognition. No reward. Nothing.

Clenching then unclenching his fists wordlessly, he drew in a deep breath before releasing it once more – not for the need of oxygen that was rather redundant to him nowadays, but allowing him time to dispel the tension and chill the smeg out.

It was only a single breath, but those precious seconds of relaxation would prove to be vitally important for what was about to happen.

He turned. And in that same moment, someone bumped into him.

Exactly 124 days after he'd first arrived.

* * *

Rimmer hardly had time to realise who it was at first. Instead he winced as he felt hot splashed tea scalding his skin through the robes, the clay mug now lying smashed at their feet. Using every inch of willpower he had, he swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat to escape as a wonderfully crafted insult and bit his tongue.

"Someone's in a hurry," he offered.

Hidden under the safety of his hood, his eyes were free to roam over the figure stood scowling openly back at him. He noticed instantly from his wolverine appearance that he was a Sydian gold trader; a race about as welcome on Blerios 5 as a drunken rowdy stag party at a Royal Ballet rendition of Swan Lake.

Indeed, this character before him was under no illusion of his unpopularity. A flashing glimmer of sword-metal winked at him from the hidden depths of a long, neatly-tailored black coat, signalling that he was ably prepared for any hostile confrontation that may arise during his visit.

"What's it to you?" the Sydian challenged with a snort. Rimmer watched as he raised his nose in a habitual gesture, sniffing the air between them. " _Hologram_ ," he added, almost spitting the word.

Gritting his teeth, Rimmer proffered his hands in an appeal for calm. By raising them in surrender, he reasoned that he was far less likely to use them in granting this cocky trader a fist-related teeth disorder. Besides, the Maitiaki existed to protect the temple and keep the peace - not to start trouble.

"Let's not get personal," he replied evenly. "After all, I believe it was your good self who ran into me. And gave me the complimentary herbal tea bath."

The Sydian snorted derisively as he looked him up and down. "The Blerions must have really lowered their standards if they're training the likes of your kind in their ridiculous, old-fashioned ways."

"Just - " The word slipped out dangerously close to his old snide tone and he had to bite back the venom before he continued, " - let me pass," he concluded tightly, squeezing past the Sydian's shoulder in the narrow alley.

But the Sydian was clearly far too amused not to play ball, grabbing him roughly by the arm as he passed. Despite the annoyance flaring in his chest, a wicked grin lit up Rimmer's face in the shadows of his hood. Screw keeping the peace. This guy was bloody well asking for it.

"Hey, hologram!" chided the Sydian. "I was talking to y- "

A pained gasp swiftly silenced his mockery. Rimmer spun back - a gloved hand shooting out, rattlesnake-fast - and seized him by the wrist, twisting it back awkwardly. He could feel his hood lifting back teasingly as he glanced up, his own dark eyes meeting a shocked expression of recognition. Now here was the reaction he'd often be granted with when confronting attackers in dark alleys. A look of pure and fearful reverence.

"Oh dear, squire," he tutted in a smooth, deep tone, his voice edged with dark amusement. "Now I can say it was self-defence."


	6. Day 124

Suffice to say, Kada felt a _tad_ concerned when he realised exactly who he was dealing with.

Ace Rimmer was the stuff of legend. An immortal figure of universal peace-keeping. A man who - if the stories were true - was capable of single-handedly defeating the simulant race.

And apparently, he'd thought that spoiling for a rumble would be a good idea. Oh _great_.

However if there's one thing that Sydians are known for, it's their deceptive nature. Their almost weasel-like sense of sneakiness. After all, it was how the precious treasure hidden in the dark depths of his pocket had been…acquired. And when one uses the term 'acquired' in a Sydian context, it's as loose as a gymnastically-trained Titan hooker.

Kada swallowed carefully. If he and his 'acquired' item were going to make the planned rendezvous and leave this sandpit of a planetoid together, he was going to need to put some seriously sneaky moves into practice. He was no stranger to fighting dirty should the need arise, and instinctively adopted his oft-used and deceptively convincing mask of humility.

"Apologies," he grovelled, his voice dripping with theatricality. "Had I known it was _you_ \- " Kada's eyes flitted thoughtfully between the dusty ground and the hologram's frown. Feigning submission, he bent down closer to the floor as if in severe pain, still caught in Rimmer's grasp. "A foolish mistake, I can assure you. _Please_ \- if you could see fit to release me and let me be on my way - "

Kada waited for the right moment. The point at which his cringe-worthy begging drew forth a disgusted roll of the eyes. And with that tiny window of opportunity, he struck. Scuffing a hand across the loose sand, he cast up the swirling dust into Rimmer's face.

"OWW! _Smegging_ \- "

Fighting to blink the sand from his eyes, Rimmer felt the heel of a palm thrust hard and fast into his chin. Stunned by the blow, he struggled to stay on his feet as a mist of shimmering stars exploded across his vision.

Taking advantage of his lapse in concentration, Kada spun them both outwards, wind-milling their arms so that the hologram had no choice but to release his grip. Bad move.

"Argh!"

As Rimmer finally wrenched his eyes back open, a flash of yellow caught his attention through the blurred haze. It seemed that something small and round had been cast free from Kada's robes during the spin, and he now clutched desperately at thin air, trying to snatch it back before Rimmer could notice.

It was a coin.

Bouncing twice off the ground, two sets of eyes watched as it rolled in a lazy circle - as if meandering in a shameless, drunken dance - before clattering to a final rest in the dust between them. A good two inches in diameter, the coin was far too large for the usual tender of the markets. Even from this distance, one could make out the distinctive Aztec-like patterns embossed into the shimmering gold.

Rimmer eyes narrowed in suspicion. The coin was almost certainly from the temple. In fact, it looked incredibly reminiscent of the temple's own _Pene o Popare_ \- the Coin of Protection - a symbol of Lati's plentiful love and generosity for her worshippers.

"Interesting." The word formed itself slowly, rolling with thoughtful consideration around his mouth. Silence hung stale in the air before their eyes met once more.

Kada coughed politely, proffering his well-rehearsed salesman smile – all flash and no substance. "A gift from the priesthood," he chuckled lightly. Wolverine fingers twitched under his cloak, hovering dangerously close to his sword.

Rimmer stared back at him, unimpressed. He didn't reply, simply cocking an eyebrow. And that small movement was all it took.

When he'd first died, Rimmer had hated being a hologram with a passion - but as Ace, he'd quickly learned to suck it up. Yes, death had its crappy drawbacks, but there were times when it came in rather useful. Such as, for example, when people were trying to kill you.

His electronic visual senses noticed the very instant that Kada drew forth his sword, before swinging it before him in one fluid and fatal movement. The arc of his slice seemed to slow, allowing Rimmer to tip back out of harm's way - enough to feel the wind of the blade and the sharp tickle of the tip against his throat as it passed by. In the same movement, he reached behind his back and drew a sword of his own, the chiming _clang_ of blade against blade commanding the return of time to its usual pace.

"I don't think so, sunshine."

The air erupted with a flurry of swordplay, a clash of metal as the pair fought furiously - slicing, parrying and blocking one another's blows. Kada was clearly more than familiar with wielding a sword, but lacked the flare and polish that came with formal training.

Casting Kada's rather sloppy _yoko giri_ attack to one side, Rimmer thrust forward with his sword. However, Kada was surprisingly swift in his retaliation and their blades buzzed with a low hum as they clashed in an ox-guard block, faces barely inches apart.

With an amused snort, Kada delivered a hard kick to the solar-plexus, casting Rimmer back from their locked position in a resonating slice of metal. Desperate, he quickly stooped to make a grab for the coin as the hologram regained his footing. However, he soon snatched back his hand just as we was about to lose it to Rimmer's sword, his head snapping back from a sharp elbow to the chin. Dazed, Kada staggered back before sinking to his knees.

Sword tip nestled protectively in the dust beside the coin, Rimmer scowled. "Two can play at that game, smegger," he muttered under his breath, his old voice biting through.

Knelt in the sand, Kada glanced up to regard him darkly past hooded eyes, fingers curling silently around his sword handle once more. Lips retreating into a primal snarl, he slashed out at Rimmer's legs and feet to force him into retreat, scrabbling forward in the dust with his free hand to snatch back the coin.

Startled by his desperation, Rimmer dodged quickly, skipping back with every blow as if this were some bizarre game of hopscotch. With the risk of losing his own hand to the Sydian's sword, Rimmer had no choice but to simultaneously use the tip of his sword to draw back the coin out of his reach, leaving behind a strange swirling trail in the dust.

Leaping to his feet with a frustrated growl, Kada swung a _kesa giri_ \- an overhead cut - to cut short his tactic. With the blade hurtling down upon him, Rimmer had no choice but to raise his sword to block, leaving the precious coin on the floor between them, unguarded. The pair glanced down to its innocent sparkle before their eyes met once more.

Still joined in their peculiar lock of swords, clouds of dust began to curl up from the ground as a scrabble of feet ensued. With a series of mutual kicks, toe scuffs and knee jabs, the pair fought to plant a claiming foot on the coin - lips flinching and noses twitching at the delicate operation.

Finally, with a powerful shoulder-barge, Rimmer managed to topple the Sydian off-balance for just a moment; enough for him to stamp a guarding shoe on top of the coin, silencing its shimmer in the low light.

"Ha!" he cried victoriously, in a tone rather reminiscent to his old self.

Oddly enough, Kada seemed unfazed by his opponent's triumph. In fact, a wicked grin split his wolverine features as with vindictive force, he aimed a swift kick at Rimmer's unguarded crotch.

It was Sod's Law really. The bods who had created the hologram technology had failed to replicate three out of the five senses, rendering those resurrected as completely incorporeal - unable to taste, touch or feel anything.

However, the one sensation their subsequent upgrades had been able to replicate faithfully was the startling realism of receiving a blow to the bollocks.

Initially it was the shock that stunned him, his sword dropping like a dead weight to the floor. And then came the explosion of agony, powerful enough to conjure tears that pricked in his eyes. With a shocked wheeze, he crumpled to the floor, the rhythm of pain from Beelzebub's own drum pulsing through his entire body.

With a barely-concealed smirk, Kada sheathed his sword and snatched up the forgotten coin from the dust. Rimmer could barely concentrate on _that_ treasure, with his hands full of his own family jewels.

"It's been a pleasure!" the Sydian announced with a sweeping bow, before hurrying away into the shadows of the market's maze

Rimmer groaned as he staggered to his feet. "Defend, then gloat," he reminded himself, his voice rather creaky. He sheathed his own sword before embarking on a fuming, yet hobbling pursuit of the thief. "Defend, _then_ gloat."

Kada's long coat rippled in the wind as he sprinted into the shadows of the abandoned market stalls, disappearing at a worryingly swift pace. Rimmer scowled as he raced after him, leaping over the wooden vegetable crates that Kada kicked and knocked back to shatter and splinter in his wake.

That smegging Sydian may have speed on his side but Rimmer _knew_ these streets. The patterns of the market alleys were engrained in his mind from weeks and months of mooching, and a flash of realisation hit him as he clocked the sign ahead that read _Piti Porowha_ \- or 'Bidder's Square'.

With renewed purpose, Rimmer took the next left and followed him in the parallel alley, carefully tracking the black blur in the corner of his eye as it flitted in and out of sight behind the sandstone buildings. Although far narrower, this street was clear of crates, allowing him to not only catch up with the Sydian, but gain a few precious seconds on him.

Rimmer grit his teeth as he pounded up the stone steps that led to the auctioneer's gantry. He only had one shot at this. But like most things in life, it all boiled down to a leap of faith…

Panting heavily, Kada risked a glance over his shoulder as he continued to run. The shadows behind him were strangely empty - the beating footsteps that had once followed him now silent. A wicked grin stretched across his face. Looks like that wannabe Maitiaki had given up the chase.

Ahead of him the street opened up into a tiny square, the sandy floor patterned with the footprints of the day's bidders. And just as the rippling awnings of the alley opened up to the dying sunlight of the open air, it was swiftly drowned out by a shadow that swallowed him whole.

Kada hardly had a chance to react. He glanced up just in time to see the hologram descending from the sky, barrelling into him in a rugby tackle so rough the wind was ripped from his lungs. The resulting collision sent them both crashing backwards through an arched wooden doorway on the street corner, shattering it into blue-painted shards.

* * *

The family inside were understandably a little shocked.

One minute the market auctioneer, his wife, and their young daughter had been enjoying a quiet family meal together. The next minute an alien pair - a Sydian and a human Maitiaki - had exploded through their front door, landing in a blanket of wooden splinters that now littered the dining room floor-tiles.

Scrabbling back to the relative safety that the corner of the room offered, the trio watched open-mouthed as the strange pair battled in a furious flurry of punches. Their mutual desperation was clear as the Maitiaki pinned the Sydian to the floor, snatching for some hidden object in his tightly clamped fist.

Grabbing him by the loose cloth of his shoulders, the Sydian thrust up his boot to meet the Maitiaki's chest and threw him bodily over his shoulder to free himself with an audible growl. He quickly pulled himself to his feet, snatching at the nearest chair that set nestled under the dining room table and thrust it forth in defence. The Maitiaki was fast in his recovery, launching himself at the Sydian as if the whole performance were some strange lion-taming parody.

Wielding it like a primitive club, he swung the chair hard and fast towards the Maitiaki's head. On the first swing, he managed to dodge its trajectory just in time. On the second swing, he didn't even allow it the satisfaction. With an angered snarl, the Maitiaki delivered a powerful roundhouse kick that swiftly retired the chair to nothing more than firewood kindling.

The flurry of punches and blocks resumed once more, with the Sydian clearly desperate to reach the staircase doorway that led up to the roof. Yet the Maitiaki didn't seem like he was going to grant him the pleasure as he snatched him by the cloak and wrenched him back, slamming him against the stone hearth.

The resulting force cast the row of dusky clay bowls free from the shelf behind him, smashing by their feet into jagged shards. The Maitiaki was obviously not happy with his attempts to escape, delivering two sharp knee-jabs to the stomach to voice his displeasure.

Riled, the Sydian thrust his head forward in a vicious head-butt, shoving himself free as the Maitiaki staggered back from the blow. He concluded with a potent side-kick that sent the hooded man flying backwards across the room and crashing onto the dining table, snapping it neatly in two.

The family watched, still with open-mouthed disbelief, as the Sydian dusted his hands at his work. He gave a cursory nod to the trio.

"Te-nei ahiahi," he said politely, and then made a sharp exit through the door and up the stairs.

The auctioneer and his wife exchanged bemused glances, surveying the devastation he'd left in his wake. They glanced back as with a weak groan, the Maitiaki hauled himself to his feet, picking his way upright amongst the splintered devastation beneath him.

Turning back to face them, he clasped his hands together in a meek bow, gesturing apologetically at the broken table.

"Aroha mai tata te paparahua," he offered, panting heavily.

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

The sky was darkening rapidly now, sinking into a palette of inky blues. The clouds still clung to what remained of the day, their once innocent whites now bleeding an eerily beautiful red tinge in the dusk.

Tonga hurried across the square to the trio of Blerion guards, picked out by their red and gold uniforms. "Have you found him yet?" he asked quickly.

They each shook their heads. "We only have a rough description from earlier sightings in the day," the captain explained. "About an hour ago, we received a couple of reports that a Sydian had been acting suspiciously in the market square, frequently loitering around the temple doors." He dipped his head in reverence. "My apologies that we did not act quicker."

Tonga sighed gently. "The guardians haven't seen anybody leave the city gates so he's got to still be here," he reasoned. "We just need to - "

"Look! Up there!"

The pair swivelled back to see the young guard gesturing towards the distant rooftops of the market buildings. Tonga's eyes narrowed to follow his finger tracing the path of two silhouetted figures, racing at an impressive speed across the horizon.

A knowing smile stretched across Tonga's face. "Good lad," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

In a crazed flutter of wings, a flock of roosting birds cast up into the evening air as two pairs of feet thundered by.

Kada growled to himself as he pushed himself faster, leaping, clambering and sliding across every level and angle of the city's rooftops. Despite his good head-start, the damned Maitiaki was still in hot pursuit, refusing to give up the chase.

He gripped the coin tighter in his pocket. They clearly both understood how much was at stake, but each had their own motivations. Kada's face hardened. It just fell down to how far you were willing to go to get what you wanted.

Rimmer's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he clocked the Sydian's strangely knowledgeable route. Rather than choosing a sensible path to make an easy escape, it seemed as though he was happy to take on steep inclines and risky leaps. It could only be for one reason. He had an appointment to make.

Indeed, the Sydian almost seemed to hesitate as he realised the distance he was going to have to jump in order to reach the neighbouring building. Yet with the determination only seen in the most skilled or desperate of men, he leapt, arms wind-milling in mid-air as if to help propel him forward, landing feet first on the building opposite.

However, he must have landed too heavily or too awkwardly. Rimmer watched across the expanse as the Sydian sunk to a crouch as if in pain, head bowed into shadow. He smiled to himself. Looks like this little game of cat and mouse was over.

Conjuring an extra burst of speed to ensure the best possible run up, Rimmer pushed off from the ledge and leapt. It wasn't until he was mid-air, hurtling towards the neighbouring roof, that he realised not only had he made a fatal mistake, but it was far too late to rectify.

They were like pulses of sensations. The stark yellow of the Sydian's eyes as they locked with his. The glint of sword-metal. The searing pain across his abdomen as he passed.

Rimmer hit the ground hard, spinning over and over in the dust before skidding to a halt in the clouds it conjured forth. Gritting his teeth, he curled up his knees instinctively, clutching his stomach. He could feel the heat pulsing from the wound already, the disconcerting numbness in his chest as his lightbee buzzed into overdrive, quickly trying to knot together the electrons of his image once more.

Kada chuckled as he approached, sheathing his sword underneath his cloak. "You truly are a glutton for punishment, aren't you?" he observed, shaking his head. "A shame really. I expected a lot more from the legendary Ace Rimmer." He shrugged. "Still, the fairytale rarely lives up to the reality, does it?"

Unable to get up, Rimmer merely scowled back at him. His self-repair would still take a couple more minutes to rectify the damage the sword-blow had inflicted, so he was armed with nothing but words to war with.

"You don't even believe in what the coin means to these people, do you?" he demanded. "What it _stands_ for?" Sucking in a sharp breath as more electrons knotted together in repair, Rimmer shook his head. "Why the hell do you want it so badly?"

Kada snorted. "Are you kidding?" he shot back, incredulous. "Blerion gold this rare and pure would go for a hefty price in the off-world trading posts." His eyes glazed over as they pictured a life of wealth and grandeur. "I wouldn't have to work again - " he mused dreamily.

His attention was snatched by a distant flash on the horizon. A strange light grew in size and form as it steadily powered towards them.

A wicked smile crept along Kada's face. "Right on time," he nodded.

* * *

Unbeknownst to both Kada and Rimmer, Tonga and the guards listened in the street below as a tinny buzz on the wind grew louder and stronger. They clutched their ears as it reached a steady crescendo of thumping bass roaring so loud, the stall-owners were drawn forth from their houses to spill onto the streets in abject wonder.

High above them, the distinctive shape gave it away. A Sydian transport craft - barely large enough for three people - cruised across the sky, blocking out the weak glow of the dusky clouds.

Tonga's fingers retreated back into tightly-clenched fists. "What are you doing up there?" he hissed to himself.

* * *

The ship paused thoughtfully high above the rooftops before sinking down into a hover, as close to the building as it dared. Now crouched on the floor, Rimmer shielded his eyes as the ship's engines whipped up the loose sand from the ground below, sending it swirling up into the sky.

Kada cackled happily as a panel on the ship's underbelly unlocked, easing down into an open platform for his access. He turned back to face him, his black robes billowing.

"Nice try, hologram!" he howled over the roar of the ship's engines. "But I'm afraid you're just not ready to play with the big boys."

Rimmer watched as the Sydian tossed up the coin playfully, noticing how it winked in the neon glow of the hazard lights. And it was in that flash - that moment right _there_ \- when the realisation hit him.

"Yes I am."

The moment Kada tore away his gaze and turned back to the ship's platform in preparation to jump, Rimmer seized upon the opportunity. He kept his eyes locked on the Sydian's back, watching as he leapt with outstretched hands and grabbed onto the ship's platform, struggling to pull himself up against the fierce wind of the engines.

And as the ship slowly began to rise once more as it prepared to leave this godforsaken planetoid behind, Rimmer closed the gap between them with a speed and desperation he'd never known before.

Springboarding a flying leap from the roof, Rimmer threw his entire body weight onto the dangling Sydian and latched his arms and legs around his torso with a vice-like grip. The momentum sent them swinging back and forth precariously, the swirling dust rising up to encircle them both.

Yet the combination of shock and extra weight proved too much for wolverine clutches. With a strangled cry, his fingertips slid from the metal gantry and he let go, sending the pair tumbling free-fall to the street below.

* * *

The Blerion captain reeled back as the pair plummeted towards them, their black silhouettes outlined against the harsh glare of the ship's lights.

"Incoming!" he hollered.

Startled by the daring approach, Tonga's breath shuddered. His panicked eyes flitted across the dark alley until they lit upon an abandoned vegetable cart, laden with rotting spoils.

Racing over, Tonga sprung his weight onto his left leg and kicked the cart with as much force as he could conjure. The creaking wooden wheels were pressed into swift conscription as it squealed off across the alley in a ramshackle rescue mission, providing the perfect cushioning when the pair landed with a sickening squelch in its mulch within.

Without a moment's hesitation the ship rose up and powered across the city, abandoning both its mission and its last remaining crewmember. Tonga watched as the silhouette disappeared into the glowing horizon, swallowed by the last dying embers of the sunset. He shook his head sadly. It spoke volumes about how self-serving the Sydians really were.

He glanced across with a smug smile of self-satisfaction as the trio of guards hauled the Sydian bodily out from the cart with an audible _squelch_ , escorting him swiftly away in a clatter of chains. Rimmer was left to pull himself free from the muck, picking his way towards him with barely-concealed disgust.

Tonga raised an eyebrow. "I take it you've managed to retrieve the coin?" he asked.

Exhausted, Rimmer brandished it wordlessly, the glimmering gold not at all marred by its excursion across the city.

The Blerion sighed. "You could have conducted that pursuit a little less publicly, you know," Tonga stated simply, his face still and solemn. "A little less destruction and a little more decorum, perhaps?"

Rimmer stared back hard as he panted heavily, his abdomen still pulsing and flickering with a weak glow as his lightbee concluded its self-repair. The torn and splattered robes were now ruined beyond rescue, his hood wrenched back to reveal an explosion of ruffled blonde locks. His chest heaved with a little more than pure exertion as he stood, dangerously silent.

" _What?_ " he snapped suddenly - expressed in his old voice before he could even stop himself.

Tonga couldn't keep up the pretence any longer. A cheeky smile tobogganed across his features, his lips bubbling with restrained giggles. He pulled Rimmer into a headlock as he walked him back to the temple through the receding crowds, rubbing his knuckles against his head so hard his scalp burned from the friction.

"You're really easy to wind up," Tonga managed, his laughter now riotous. "You know that, don't you?"

* * *

Darkness had now reclaimed the sleeping city. The night shadows had crept through the streets, holding silent dominion until the return of the day.

Tonga stood alone in the square outside the temple, picking out the distant stars that had now begun to emerge from the eternal darkness of the night sky. Each of them seemed to sparkle with their own story to tell, winking back at him wordlessly.

Lone footsteps sounded on the stone steps behind him. Tonga swivelled back to see Rimmer emerging from the temple, dressed in the gold lamé outfit that could only signify one outcome.

Rimmer shrugged at Tonga's questioning eyebrow. "My Maitiaki outfit was way beyond repair," he explained. "I'd have been risking indecent exposure if I wore it again out in public again." He glanced down at himself, despairing at the bacofoil get-up. He really had to get around to changing it. "These are the only clothes I own now."

Pulling his robes tighter across his body, Tonga gestured back to the temple. "So you managed to return the coin to its rightful place?"

"It's all tucked in for bed, don't worry," Rimmer parried back. His eyes dropped to his boot as he scuffed the sand, pausing for a moment before he continued. "When I was putting it back, I saw the Mahita again."

A little uneasy, Tonga glanced up. "What did he say?"

The hologram shrugged. "He didn't." He crossed his arms, tucking his fingers under the warmth of his arms. "Just nodded."

Tonga pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Fair enough."

The square was abandoned now. What was once a hive of activity was now quiet and still, save for the odd whistle and howl of the bitter desert wind.

"I know it was hard for you," Tonga offered in the silence that followed. "But trust me. Every single one of those 124 days has brought you a step closer to who you need to be out there."

He fell quiet for a moment, regarding the night sky once more. He gave a low sigh.

"And now the stars beckon for your return."

A flutter of apprehension flared in Rimmer's chest. From under the feathered bangs of his fringe, he stared up at the foreboding blackness that held so many galaxies, colonies, dangers and foes.

And in that moment, he realised how small and insignificant he felt against the vast enormity of the universe and its infinite dimensions. How heavy they felt weighing upon his shoulders. How their voices called to him all at once, vying to be heard.

Wrenched from his reverie by the sound of receding footsteps, he spun back to catch Tonga crossing the abandoned square, heading towards the temple. Rimmer scowled.

"So what, is that it?" he called after him angrily. "After all that, you're just going to walk away? Not even say goodbye?"

The hooded figure slowed and stopped, pausing momentarily before turning back to face him. "I believe it is you who is walking away, not I," Tonga explained evenly. "Besides, we shall see each other again. Or rather, I shall certainly see you again - but not in the form I see you in now."

Rimmer swallowed hard. "Tonga – "

"I know you're still afraid," Tonga nodded, understanding. "But don't worry. All is not lost." Despite the space between them, his soft words seemed to carry across the square on the cold chill of the night air. "When the time is right, you will find the nirvanah you seek so desperately."

Rimmer's mouth fell open. "Nirvanah - ?" he managed, blinking unsteadily. "You - you think I'll see her again?"

Even from the depths of his hood, Rimmer could pick out a grin that stretched wide across Tonga's face. "Goodbye, Ace," he replied simply. Stepping back slowly, he watched him for a moment before turning away to head for the temple. "And good luck!" he called over his shoulder.

As the echoes of his footsteps faded away into the darkness, Rimmer regarded the stars once more. A rare smile, small at first but growing in confidence, swept across his face.

He found himself appreciating – not for the first time – that the universe had a strange sense of humour when it came to karma.


End file.
